TMT  PRINTER 
OF  UDEHS 


HAK01D  •  BELL  -  WTGHT 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 


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THAT  PRINTER 
OF    UDELL'S 

A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 
By  Harold  Bell  Olrigbt 


II,I,USTRATED    BY 

CUtberoc  Gilbert 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  Publishers 
#     #     #     NEW  YORK     *     ,*     /? 


COPYRIGHT,  1902  AND  1903 
Br  HAROLD  BELL  WRIQBT 


DEDICATION 

VO  THAT  FRIEND  WHOSE  LIFE  HAS  TAUGHT  ME 
MANY  BEAUTIFUL  TRUTHS;  WHOSE  WORDS 
HAVE  STRENGTHENED  AND  ENCOURAGED  ME 
TO  LIVE  MORE  TRUE  TO  MY  GOD.  MY  FELLOWS 
AND  MYSELF;  WHO  HOPED  FOR  ME  WHEN 
OTHERS  LOST  HOPE;  WHO  BELIEVED  IN  ME 
WHEN  OTHERS  COULD  NOT;  WHO  SAW  GOOD 
WHEN  OTHERS  LOOKED  FOR  EVIL;  TO  THAT 
FRIEND.  WHOEVER  HE  IS.  WHEREVER  HE  MAY 
BE.  I  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATE  THIS  STORY. 

H.  B.  W. 


2C7SG.19 


"And  th*  King  shall  amswor  and  say  vnto 
them,  Verily  I  say  unto  yon,  Inasmuch 
as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  these  my  brethren, 
even  these  least,  ye  did  it  unto  me." 


That  . 

Printer  of  Udell's 

GOD.  take  ker>  o'  Dick !— He'll  sure  have| 

B 

a  tough  time  when  I'm  gone, — an*  I'm  er*T 
goin' — mighty  fast  I  reckon. — I  know  I 
aint  done  much  ter  brag  on, — Lord, — but  I  aint  had 
nary  show.  -I  allus  'low'd  ter  do  ye  better, — but  hit's 
jes'  kept  me  scratchin' — ter  do  fer  me  an'  Dick, — an' 
somehow  I  aint  had  time — ter  sarve — ye  like  I  ought. 
— An'  my  man  he's  most  ways — no  'count  an'  triflin', 
— Lord, — 'oepten  when  he  likers  up, — an'  then, — you 
know  how  he  uses  me  an'  Dick. — But  Dick,  he  aint 
no  ways  ter  blame — fer  what  his  dad  an'  mammy 
is, — an'  I  ax  ye— fair, — O  Lord, — take  ker  o'  him — 
fer — Jesus'  sake — Amen." 

"Dick ! — O  Dick, — whar  are  ye  honey  ?" 

A  hollow-cheeked  wisp  of  a  boy  arose  from  the 
dark  corner  where  he  had  been  crouching  like  a 
frightened  animal,  and  with  cautious  steps  drew  near, 
the  bed.  Timidly  he  touched  the  wasted  hand  that 
lay  upon  the  dirty  coverlid. 

"What  ye  want,  maw?" 

The  woman  hushed  her  moaning  and  turned  her 
15 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

face,  upon  which  the  shadow  was  already  fallen,  to» 
ward  the  boy.  "I'm  er  goin' — mighty  fast, — Dicky," 
she  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  audible 
"Whar's  yer  paw  2" 

,  Bending  closer  to  the  face  upon  the  pillow,  the  lad 
pointed  with  trembling  finger  toward  the  other  end 
of  the  cabin  and  whispered,  while  his  eyes  grew  big 
with  fear,  "Sh — ,  he's  full  ergin.  Bin  down  ter  th' 
stillhouse  all  erenin' — Don't  stir  him,  maw,  er  we'll 
git  licked  some  more.  Tell  me  what  ye  want." 

But  his  only  answer  was  that  broken  prayer  as  the 
sufferer  turned  to  the  wail  again.  "O  Lord,  take 
ker  o' 

A  stick  of  wood  in  the  fire-place  burned  in  two 
and  fell  with  a  soft  thud  on  the  ashes ;  a  lean  hound 
crept  stealthily  to  the  boy's  side  and  thrust  a  cold 
muzzle  against  his  ragged  jacket;  in  the  cupboard 
a  mouse  rustled  over  the  rude  dishes  and  among  the 
scanty  handful  of  provisions. 

Then,  cursing  foully  in  his  sleep,  the  drunkard 
stirred  uneasily  and  the  dog  slunk  beneath  the  bed, 
while  the  boy  stood  shaking  with  fear  until  all  was 
still  again.  Reaching  out,  he  touched  once  more  that 
clammy  hand  upon  the  dirty  coverlid.  No  move- 
ment answered  to  his  touch.  Reaching  farther,  he 
cautiously  laid  his  fingers  upon  the  ashy-colored  tem- 
ple, awkwardly  brushing  back  a  thin  lock  of  the 
tangled  hair.  The  face,  like  the  hand,  was  cold 

16 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

With  a  look  of  awe  and  horror  in  his  eyes,  the  child 
caught  his  parent  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  the  life- 
less form  while  he  tried  again  and  again  to  make  her 
hear  his  whispered  words. 

"Maw !  Maw !  Wake  up ;  hit'l  be  day  purty  soon 
an'  we  can  go  and  git  some  greens;  an'  I'll  take  the 
gig  an'  kill  some  fish  f er  you ;  the's  a  big  channel  cat 
in  the  hole  jes'  above  the  riffles;  I  seed  'im  ter  day 
when  I  crost  in  the  John  boat.  Say  Maw,  I  done  set 
a  dead  fall  yesterM',  d'  reckon  I'll  ketch  anythin'  ? 
Wish't  it  'ud  be  a  coon,  don't  you  ? — Maw !  O  Maw, 
the  meal's  most  gone.  I  only  made  a  little  pone  las' 
night ;  thar'e  some  left  f  er  you.  Shant  I  fix  ye  some 
'fore  dad  wakes  up  ?" 

But  there  was  no  answer  to  his  pleading,  and, 
ceasing  his  efforts,  the  lad  sank  on  his  knees  by  the 
rude  bed,  not  daring  even  to  give  open  expression 
to  his  grief  lest  he  arouse  the  drunken  sleeper  by  the 
fireplace.  For  a  long  time  he  knelt  there,  clasping 
the  cold  hand  of  his  lifeless  mother,  until  the  lean 
hound  crept  again  to  his  side,  and  thrusting  that 
cold  muzzle  against  his  cheek,  licked  the  salt  team 
that  fell  so  hot. 

At  last,  just  as  the  first  flush  of  day  stained  the 
eastern  sky,  and  the  light  tipped  the  old  pine  tree  on 
the  hill  with  glory,  the  boy  rose  to  his  feet.  Placing 
his  hand  on  the  head  of  his  only  comforter,  he  whis- 
pered, "Come  on,  Smoke,  we've  gotter  go  now."  And 

17 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

together  boy  and  dog  crept  softly  across  the  room  and 
stole  out  of  the  cabin  door-out  of  the  cabin  door,  into 
the  beautiful  light  of  the  new  day.  And  the  drunken 
brute  still  slept  on  the  floor  by  the  open  fire-place,  but 
the  fire  was  dead  upon  the  hearth. 

"He  can't  hurt  maw  any  more,  Smoke,"  said  the 
lad,  when  the  two  were  at  a  safe  distance.  "ISTo,  he 
sure  can't  lick  her  agin,  an'  me  an'  you  kin  rustle  fer 
ourselves,  I  reckon." 

Sixteen  years  later,  in  the  early  gray  of  another 
morning,  a  young  man  crawled  from  beneath  a  stack 
of  straw  on  the  outskirts  of  Boyd  City,  a  busy,  bust- 
ling mining  town  of  some  fifteen  thousand  people,  in 
one  of  the  middle  western  states,  many  miles  from 
the  rude  cabin  that  stood  beneath  the  hill. 

The  night  before,  he  had  approached  the  town  from 
the  east,  along  the  road  that  leads  past  Mount  Olive, 
and  hungry,  cold  and  weary,  had  sought  shelter  of 
the  friendly  stack,  much  preferring  a  bed  of  straw 
and  the  companionship  of  cattle  to  any  lodging  place 
he  might,  find  in  the  city,  less  clean  and  among  a  ruder 
company. 

It  was  early  March  and  the  smoke  from  a  nearby 
block  of  smelters  was  lost  in  a  chilling  mist,  while 
a  raw  wind  made  the  young  man  shirer  as  he  stood 
picking  the  bits  of  straw  from  his  clothing.  When 
he  had  brushed  his  garments  as  best  he  could  and 

18 


had  stretched  his  numb  and  stiffened  limbs,  he  looked 
long  and  thoughtfully  at  the  city  lying  half  hidden  in 
its  shroud  of  gray. 

"I  wonder" — he  began,  talking  to  himself  and 
thinking  grimly  of  the  fifteen  cents  in  his  right-hand 
pants  pocket — "I  wonder  if" — 

"Mornin'  pard,"  said  a  voice  at  his  elbow.  "Kuther 
late  when  ye  got  in  las'  night,  warn't  it  ?" 

The  young  man  jumped,  and  turning  faced  a  genu- 
ine specimen  of  the  genus  hobo.  "Did  you  sleep  in 
this  straw-stack  last  night?"  he  ejaculated,  after 
carefully  taking  the  ragged  fellow's  measure  with  a 
practiced  eye. 

"Sure ;  this  here's  the  hotel  whar  I  put  up — slept 
in  the  room  jes'  acrost  the  hall  from  your'n. — Whar 
ye  goin'  ter  eat  !" — with  a  hungry  look 

"Don't  know.     Did  you  have   any   supper  last 

Bight  '?" 

"Nope,  supper  was  done  et  when  I  got  in." 

"Same  here." 

"I  didn't  have  nothin'  fer  dinner  neither,"  con- 
tinued the  tramp,  "an'  Pm  er  gettin'  powerful  weak." 

The  other  thought  of  his  fifteen  cents.  "Where 
are  you  going  ?"  he  said  shortly. 

The  ragged  one  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  city. 
"Hear'd  as  how  thar's  a  right  smart  o'  work  yonder 
and  I'm  on  the  hunt  fer  a  job." 

"What  do  you  do  ?" 

19 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Tendin'  mason's  my  strong-holt.  I've  done  most 
everything  though;  used  ter  work  on  a  farm,  and 
puttered  round  a  saw-mill  some  in  the  Arkansaw 
pineries.  Aim  ter  strike  a  job  at  somethin'  and  go 
back  thar  where  I  know  folks.  Nobody  won't  give  a 
feller  nuthin'  in  this  yer  God-fer-saken  country; 
haint  asked  me  ter  set  down  f  er  a  month.  Back  home 
they're  allus  glad  ter  have  a  man  eat  witk  'em.  I'll 
sure  be  all  right  thar." 

The  fellow's  voice  dropped  to  the  pitiful,  pleading, 
insinuating  whine  of  the  professional  tramp. 

The  young  man  stood  looking  at  him.  Good-for- 
nothing  was  written  in  every  line  of  the  shiftless, 
shambling  figure,  and  pictured  in  every  rag  of  the 
fluttering  raiment,  and  yet — the  fellow  really  was 
hungry,-and  again  came  the  thought  of  that  fifteen 
cents.  The  young  man  was  hungry  himself;  had 
been  hungry  many  a  time  in  the  past,  and  downright, 
gnawing,  helpless  hunger  is  a  great  leveler  of  man- 
kind; in  fact,  it  is  just  about  the  only  real  bond  ot 
fellowship  between  men.  "Come  on,"  he  said  at  last, 
"I've  got  fifteen  cents;  I  reckon  we  can  find  some- 
thing to  eat."  And  the  two  set  out  toward  the  city 
together. 

Passing  a  deserted  mining  shaft  and  crossing  the 
railroad,  they  entered  the  southern  portion  of  the 
town,  and  continued  west  until  they  reached  the  main 
street,  where  they  stopped  at  a  little  grocery  store  on 

20 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

the  corner.  The  one  with  the  fifteen  cents  invested 
two-thirds  of  his  capital  in  crackers  and  cheese,  his 
companion  reminding  the  grocer  meanwhile  that  he 
might  throw  in  a  little  extra,  "seein'  as  how  they  were 
the  first  customers  that  mornin'."  The  merchant, 
good-naturedly  did  so,  and  then  turned  to  answer  the 
other's  question  about  work. 

"What  can  you  do  ?" 

"I'm  a  printer  by  trade,  but  will  do  anything." 

"How  does  it  happen  you  are  out  of  work  ?" 

"I  was  thrown  out  by  the  Kansas  City  strike  and 
have  been  unable  to  find  a  place  since." 

"Is  he  looking  for  work  too?"  with  a  glance  that 
made  his  customer's  face  flush,  and  a  nod  toward 
the  fellow  from  Arkansas,  who  sat  on  a  box  near  the 
stove  rapidly  making  away  with  more  than  his  half  of 
the  breakfast. 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders,  "We  woke  up  in 
the  same  straw-stack  this  morning  and  he  was  hungry, 
that's  all." 

"Well,"  returned  the  store-keeper,  as  he  dropped 
the  lid  of  the  cracker  box  with  a  bang,  "You'll  not  be 
bothered  with  him  long  if  you  are  really  hunting  a 
job." 

"You  put  me  on  the  track  of  a  job  and  I'll  show 
you  whether  I  mean  business  or  not,"  was  the  quick 
reply.  To  which  the  grocer  made  answer  as  he 
turned  to  his  task  of  dusting  the  shelves :  "There's 

21 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

lots  of  work  in  Boyd  City  and  lots  of  men  to  do  it." 

The  stranger  had  walked  but  a  little  way  down  the 
street  when  a  voice  close  behind  him  said,  "I'm 
erbliged  ter  ye  for  the  feed,  pard ;  reckon  I'll  shove 
erlong  now." 

He  stopped  and  the  other  continued :  <rDon't  much 
like  the  looks  of  this  yer'  place  no  how,  an'  a  feller 
w'at  jes*  come  by,  he  said  as  how  thar  war  heaps 
o'  work  in  Jonesville,  forty  miles  below.  Reckon 
I'll  shove  erlong.  Aint  got  the  price  of  er 
drink  hev'  ye  ?  Can't  ye  set  'em  up  jest  fer  old 
times'  sake  ye  know?"  and  a  cunning  gleam  crept 
into  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  the  vagabond. 

The  other  started  as  he  looked  keenly  at  the  bloated 
features  of  the  creature  before  him,  and  there  was  a 
note  of  mingled  fear  and  defiance  in  his  voice  as  he 
said,  "What  do  you  mean  ?  What  do  you  know  about 
old  times  ?" 

The  tramp  shuffled  uneasily,  but  replied  with  a 
knowing  leer,  "Aint  ye  Dicky  Falkner  what  used 
ter  live  cross  the  river  from  Jimpson's  still-house  ?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  The  note  of  defiance  was 
stronger. 

"Oh  nuthin,  only  I'm  Jake  Tompkins,  that  used 
ter  work  fer  Jimpson  at  the  still.  Me  'n  yer  daddy 
war  pards ;  I  used  ter  set  'em  up  ter  him  heap  o' 
times." 

"Yes,"  replied  Dick  bitterly,  "I  know  you  now. 
22 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

You  gave  my  father  whiskey  and  then  laughed  when 
he  went  home  drunk  and  drove  my  mother  from  the 
cabin  to  spend  the  night  in  the  brush.  You  know  it 
killed  her." 

"Yer  maw  allus  was  weakly-like,"  faltered  the 
other;  "she'd  no  call  ter  hitch  up  with  Bill  Falkner 
no  how ;  she  ort  ter  took  a  man  with  book  larnin'  like 
her  daddy,  ole  Jedge  White.  It  allus  made  yer  paw 
mad  'cause  she  knowed  more'n  him.  But  Bill  lowed 
he'd  tame  her  an'  he  shor'  tried  hit  on.  Too  bad  she 
went  an'  died,  but  she  ort  ter  knowed  a  man  o'  Bill's 
spirit  would  a  took  his  licker  when  he  wanted  hit.  I 
recollect  ye  used  ter  take  a  right  smart  lot  yerself 
fer  a  kid." 

The  defiance  in  the  young  man's  voice  gave  way  to 
a  note  of  hopeless  despair.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "you  and 
dad  made  me  drink  the  stuff  before  I  was  old  enough 
to  know  what  it  would  do  for  me."  Then,  with  a 
bitter  oath,  he  continued,  half  to  himself,  "What  dif- 
ference does  it  make  anyway.  Every  time  I  try  to 
break  loose  something  reaches  out  and  pulls  me  down 
,  again.  I  thought  I  was  free  this  time  sure  and  here 
comes  this  thing.  I  might  as  well  go  to  the  devil  and 
done  with  it.  Why  shouldn't  I  drink  if  I  want  to; 
whose  business  is  it  but  my  own  ?"  He  looked  around 
for  the  familiar  sign  of  a  saloon. 

"That's  the  talk,"  exclaimed  the  other  with  a  swag- 
ger. "That's  how  yer  paw  used  ter  put  it.  Your 

23 


THAT  PEINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

maw  warn't  much  good  no  how,  with  her  finicky 
notions  'bout  eddicati'n  an'  sech.  A  little  pone  and 
baken  with  plenty  good  ol'  red  eye's  good  'nough  fer 
us.  Yer  maw  she " 

But  he  never  finished,  for  Dick  caught  him  by 
the  throat  with  his  left  hand,  the  other  clenched  ready 
to  strike.  The  tramp  shrank  back  in  a  frightened, 
cowering  heap. 

"You  beast,"  cried  the  young  man  with  another 
oath.  "If  you  dare  to  take  my  mother's  name  in  your 
foul  mouth  again  I'll  kill  you  with  my  bare  hands." 

"I  didn't  go  fer  to  do  hit.  'Fore  God  I  didn't  go 
ter.  Lemme  go  Dicky;  me'n  yer  daddy  war  pards. 
Lemme  go.  Yer  paw  an'  me  won't  bother  ye  no  more 
Dicky ;  he  can't ;  he's  dead." 

"Dead!"  Dick  released  his  grasp  and  the  other 
sprang  to  a  safe  distance. — "Dead !"  He  gazed  at 
the  quaking  wretch  before  him  in  amazement. 

The  tramp  nodded  sullenly,  feeling  at  his  throat. 
"Yep,  dead,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Me  an'  him  war 
bummin'  a  freight  out  o'  St.  Louie,  an'  he  slipped.  I 
know  he  war  killed  'cause  I  saw  'em  pick  him  up; 
six  cars  went  over  him  an'  they  kept  me  in  hock  fer 
two  months." 

Dick  sat  down  on  the  curbing  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands.  "Dead — Dead" — he  softly  re- 
peated to  himself.  "Dad  is  dead — killed  by  the  cars 
in  St.  Louis. — Dead — Dead — ' 

24 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

Then  all  the  past  life  came  back  to  him  with  a  rush : 
the  cabin  home  across  the  river  from  the  distillery; 
the  still-house  itself,  with  the  rough  men  who 
gathered  there;  the  neighboring  shanties  with  their 
sickly,  sad-faced  women,  and  dirty,  quarreling  chil- 
dren ;  the  store  and  blacksmith  shop  at  the  crossroads 
in  the  pinery  seven  miles  away.  He  saw  the  river  flow- 
ing sluggishly  at  times  between  banks  of  drooping  wil- 
lows and  tall  marsh  grass,  as  though  smitten  with  the 
fatal  spirit  of  the  place,  then  breaking  into  hurried 
movement  over  pebbly  shoals  as  though  trying  to 
escape  to  some  healthier  climate;  the  hill  where 
stood  the  old  pine  tree;  the  cave  beneath  the  great 
rock  by  the  spring ;  and  the  persimmon  grove  in  the 
bottoms.  Then  once  more  he  suffered  with  his  mother, 
from  his  drunken  father's  rage  and  every  detail  of 
that  awful  night  in  the  brush,  with  the  long  days  and 
nights  of  sickness  that  followed  before  her  death, 
came  back  so  vividly  that  he  wept  again  with  his  face 
in  his  hands  as  he  had  cried  by  the  rude  bedside  in 
the  cabin  sixteen  years  ago.  Then  came  the  years 
when  he  had  wandered  from  his  early  home  and  had 
learned  to  know  life  in  the  great  cities.  What  a  life 
he  had  found  it.  He  shuddered  as  it  all  came  back 
to  him  now.  The  many  times  when  inspired  by  the 
memory  of  his  mother,  he  had  tried  to  break  away 
from  the  evil,  degrading  things  that  were  in  and  about 
him,  and  the  many  times  he  had  been  dragged  back  by 

25 


THAT  PKINTEE  OF  UDELL'S 

the  training  and  memory  of  his  father ;  the  gambling, 
the  fighting,  the  drinking,  the  periods  of  hard  wfcrk, 
the  struggle  to  master  his  trade,  and  the  reckless 
wasting  of  wages  in  times  of  wild  despair  again. 
And  now  his  father  was  dead — dead — he  shuddered. 
There  was  nothing  to  bind  him  to  the  past  now;  he 
was  free. 

"Can't  ye  give  me  that  drink,  Dicky  ?  Jest  one  little 
horn.  It'll  do  us  both  good,  an'  then  I'll  shove  erlong ; 
jes  fer  old  times'  sake,  ye  know." 

The  voice  of  the  tramp  broke  in  upon  his  thoughts. 
For  a  moment  longer  he  sat  there ;  then  started  to  his 
feet,  a  new  light  in  his  eye ;  a  new  ring  in  his  voice. 

"No,  Jake,"  he  said  slowly ;  "I  wouldn't  if  I  could 
now.  I'm  done  with  the  old  times  forever."  He 
threw  up  his  head  and  stood  proudly  erect  while  the 
tramp  gazed  in  awe  at  something  in  his  face  he  had 
never  seen  before. 

"I  have  only  five  cents  in  the  world,"  continued 
Dick.  "Here,  take  it.  You'll  be  hungry  again  soon 
and — and — Good  bye,  Jake — Good  bye—  He 
turned  and  walked  swiftly  away  while  the  other  stood 
staring  in  astonishment  and  wonder,  first  at  the  coin 
in  his  hand,  then  at  the  retreating  figure.  Then  with 
an  exclamation,  the  ragged  fellow  wheeled  and  started 
in  the  opposite  direction  toward  the  railroad  yards,  to 
catch  a  south-bound  freight. 

Dick  had  walked  scarcely  a  block  when  a  lean 
26 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

hound  came  trotting  across  the  street.  "Dear  old 
Smoke,"  he  said  to  himself,  his  mind  going  back  to 
the  companion  of  his  early  struggle — "Dear  old 
Smoke."  Then  as  the  half-starved  creature  came 
timidly  to  his  side  and  looked  up  at  him  with  pleading 
eyes,  he  remembered  his  share  of  the  breakfast,  still 
untouched,  in  his  pocket.  "You  look  like  an  old 
friend  of  mine,"  he  continued,  as  he  stooped  to  pat  the 
bony  head,  "a  friend  who  is  never  hungry  now — , 
but  you're  hungry  aren't  you  ?"  A  low  whine  an- 
swered him.  "Yes,  you're  hungry  all  right."  And 
the  next  moment  a  wagging  tail  was  eloquently  giving 
thanks  for  the  rest  of  the  crackers  and  cheese. 

The  factories  and  mills  of  the  city  gave  forth  their 
early  greeting,  while  the  sun  tried  in  vain  to  drive 
away  the  chilly  mist.  Men  with  dinner  buckets  on 
their  arms  went  hurrying  along  at  call  of  the  whistles, 
shop-keepers  were  sweeping,  dusting  and  arranging 
their  goods,  a  street-car  full  of  miners  passed,  with 
clanging  gong;  and  the  fire  department  horses,  out 
for  their  morning  exercise,  clattered  down  the  street. 
Amid  the  busy  scene  walked  Dick,  without  work, 
without  money,  without  friends,  but  with  a  new  pur- 
pose in  his  heart  that  was  more  than  meat  or  drink. 
A  new  feeling  of  freedom  and  power  made  him  lift 
his  head  and  move  with  a  firm  and  steady  step. 

All  that  morning  he  sought  for  employment,  in- 
quiring at  the  stores  and  shops,  but  receiving  little  or 

27 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

no  encouragement.  Toward  noon,  while  waiting  for 
an  opportunity  to  interview  the  proprietor  of  a  store, 
he  picked  up  a  daily  paper  that  was  lying  on  the 
counter,  and  turning  to  the  "want"  column,  read  an 
advertisement  for  a  man  to  do  general  work  about  the 
barn  and  yard.  When  he  had  received  the  usual 
answer  to  his  request  for  work,  he  went  at  once  to  the 
address  given  in  the  paper. 

"Is  Mr.  Goodrich  in  ?"  he  asked  of  the  young  manx 
who  came  forward  with  a  look  of  inquiry  on  his  face. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"I  want  to  see  Mr.  Goodrich,"  came  the  answer  in 
tones  even  sharper,  and  the  young  man  conducted 
him  to  the  door  of  the  office. 

"Well,"  said  a  portly  middle-aged  gentleman,  when 
he  had  finished  dictating  a  letter  to  the  young  lady 
seated  at  the  typewriter,  "What  do  you  want  ?" 

"I  came  in  answer  to  your  ad  in  this  morning's 
Whistler,"  answered  Dick. 

"Umph — Where  did  you  work  last  ?" 

"At  Kansas  City.  I'm  a  printer  by  trade,  but 
•willing  to  do  anything  until  I  get  a  start." 

"Why  aren't  you  working  at  your  trade  ?" 

"I  was  thrown  out  by  the  strike  and  have  beenj 
unable  to  find  anything  since." 

A  look  of  anger  and  scorn  swept  over  the  mer- 
chant's face.  "So  you're  one  of  that  lot,  are  you? 
Why  don't  you  fellows  learn  to  take  what  you  can 

28 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

get  ?  Look  there."  He  pointed  to  a  pile  of  pamph- 
lets lying  on  the  table.  "Just  came  in  to-day;  they 
cost  me  fifty  per  cent  more  than  I  ever  paid  before, 
just  because  you  cattle  can't  be  satisfied;  and  now 
you  want  me  to  give  you  a  place.  If  I  had  my  way, 
I'd  give  you,  and  such  as  you,  work  on  the  rock  pile." 
And  he  wheeled  his  chair  toward  his  desk  again. 

"But,"  said  Dick,  "I'm  hungry— I  must  do  some- 
thing— I'm  not  a  beggar — I'll  earn  every  cent  you 
pay  me." 

"I  tell  you  no,"  shouted  the  other.  "I  won't  have 
men  about  me  who  look  above  their  position,"  and  he 
picked  up  his  pen. 

"But,  Sir,"  said  Dick  again,  "what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do,"  returned  the  other. 
"There  is  a  stone-yard  here  for  such  as  you." 

"Sir,"  answered  Dick,  standing  very  straight,  his 
face  as  pale  as  death.  "Sir,  you  will  yet  learn  that 
it  does  matter  very  much  what  such  fellows  as  I  do, 
and  some  day  you  will  be  glad  to  apologize  fcr  your 
words  this  morning.  I  am  no  more  worthy  to  work  on 
the  rock  pile  than  yourself.  As  a  man,  I  am  every  bit 
your  equal,  and  will  live  to  prove  it.  Good  morn- 
ing, Sir."  And  he  marched  out  of  the  office  like  a 
soldier  on  parade,  leaving  the  young  lady  at  the  type- 
writer motionless  with  amazement,  and  her  employer 
dumb  with  rage. 

What  induced  him  to  utter  such  words  Dick  could 
29 


not  say;  he  only  knew  that  they  were  true,  and 
they  seemed  somehow  to  be  forced  from  him ;  though 
in  spite  of  his  just  anger  he  laughed  at  the  ridiculous- 
ness of  the  situation  before  he  was  fairly  away  from 
the  building. 

The  factory  whistles  blew  for  dinner,  but  there  was 
no  dinner  for  Dick ;  they  blew  again  for  work  at  one 
o'clock,  but  still  there  was  nothing  for  Dick  to  do. 
All  that  afternoon  he  continued  his  search  with  the 
same  result — We  don't  need  you.  Some,  it  is  true, 
were  kind  in  their  answers.  One  old  gentleman,  a 
real  estate  man,  Dick  felt  sure  was  about  to  help  him, 
but  he  was  called  away  on  business,  and  the  poor  fel- 
low went  on  his  weary  search  again. 

Then  the  whistles  blew  for  six  o'clock,  and  the 
workmen,  their  faces  stained  with  the  marks  of  toil, 
hurried  along  the  streets  toward  home;  clerks  and 
business  men  crowded  the  restaurants  and  lunch  coun- 
ters, the  street  cars  were  filled  with  shoppers  going 
to  their  evening  meal.  Through  hungry  eyes,  Dick 
watched  the  throng,  wondering  what  each  worked 
at  during  the  day  and  what  they  would  have  for  sup- 
per. 

The  sun  went  behind  a  bank  of  dull,  lead-colored 
clouds  and  the  wind  sprang  up  again,  so  sharp  and 
cold  that  the  citizens  turned  up  the  collars  of  their 
coats  and  drew  their  wraps  about  them,  while  Dick 
sought  shelter  from  the  chilly  blast  in  an  open  hall- 

30 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"way.     Suddenly  a  policeman  appeared  before  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  Dick. 

"Wai,  ye'd  better  be  doing  something.  I've  had 
my  eye  on  you  all  the  afternoon.  I'll  run  ye  in  if  I 
ketch  ye  hanging  round  any  more.  Get  a  move  on 
now."  And  Dick  stepped  out  on  the  sidewalk  once 
more  to  face  the  bitter  wind. 

Walking  as  rapidly  as  possible,  he  made  his  way 
north  on  Broadway,  past  the  big  hotel,  all  aglow  with 
light  and  warmth,  past  the  vacant  lots  and  the  bicy- 
cle factory,  until  he  reached  the  ruins  of  an  old 
smelter  just  beyond  the  Missouri  Pacific  tracks.  He 
had  noticed  the  place  earlier  in  the  day  as  he  passed 
it  on  his  way  to  the  brickyard.  Groping  about  over 
the  fallen  walls  of  the  furnace,  stumbling  over  scraps 
of  iron  and  broken  timbers  in  the  dusk,  he  searched 
for  a  corner  that  would  in  some  measure  protect  him 
from  the  wind.  It  grew  dark  very  fast,  and  soon  he 
tripped  and  fell  against  an  old  boiler  lying  upturned 
in  the  ruin.  Throwing  out  his  hand  to  save  himself, 
by  chance,  he  caught  the  door  of  the  firebox,  and  in 
a  moment  more  was  inside,  crouching  in  the  accumu- 
lated dirt,  iron  rust  and  ashes.  At  least  the  wind 
could  not  get  at  him  here;  and  leaning  his  back 
against  the  iron  wall  of  his  strange  bed-room,  tired 
and  hungry,  he  fell  asleep. 


31 


CHAPTER  II. 


I  HE  next  morning  Dick  crawled  from  hia 
rude  lodging  place  stiff  and  sore,  and  after 
making  his  toilet  as  best  he  could,  started 
again  on  his  search  for  employment.  It  was  nearly 
noon  when  he  met  a  man  who  in  answer  to  his  in- 
quiry said:  "I'm  out  of  a  job  myself,  stranger,  but 
I've  got  a  little  money  left ;  you  look  hungry." 

Dick  admitted  that  he  had  had  no  breakfast.          ' 

"Tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  the  other.     "I  ain't 

got  much,  but  we  can  go  to  a  joint  I  know  of  where 

they  set  up  a  big  free  lunch.    I'll  pay  for  the  beer  and 

you  can  wade  into  the  lunch." 

Poor  Dick,  weak  from  hunger,  chilled  with  the 
March  winds,  tired  and  discouraged,  he  forgot  his 
resolve  of  the  day  before  and  followed  his  would-be 
benefactor.  It  was  not  far  and  they  soon  stood  in  a 
well-warmed  saloon.  The  grateful  heat,  the  polished 
furniture,  the  rows  of  bottles  and  glasses,  the  clean- 
looking,  white-jacketed  and  aproned  bar-tender,  and 
the  merry  air  of  those  whom  he  served,  were  all  wond- 
erfully attractive  to  the  poor  shivering  wanderer  from 

35 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

out  in  the  cold.  And  then  there  was  the  long  table 
well  loaded  with  strong,  hot  food.  The  starving  fel- 
low started  toward  it  eagerly,  with  outstretched  hand. 
"Two  beers  here,"  cried  his  companion. 

Then  Dick  remembered  his  purpose.  The  hand 
reaching  out  to  grasp  the  food  was  withdrawn;  his 
pale  face  grew  more  haggard.  "My  God !"  he  thought, 
"what  can  I  do.  I  must  have  food." 

He  saw  the  bartender  take  two  large  glasses  from 
the  shelf.  His  whole  physical  being  plead  with  him, 
demanding  food  and  drink,  and  shaking  like  a  leaf 
he  gazed  about  him  with  the  air  of  a  hunted  thing. 

He  saw  one  of  the  glasses  in  the  hand  of  the  man 
in  the  white  jacket  and  apron  filling  with  the  amber 
liquid.  A  moment  more  and-"Stop!"  he  cried, 
rushing  toward  the  one  who  held  the  glasses.  "Stop ! 
it's  a  mistake.  I  don't  drink." 

The  man  paused  and  looked  around  with  an  evil 
leer,  one  glass  still  unfilled  in  his  hand.  Then  with  a 
brutal  oath,  <fWhat  are  ye  in  here  for  then  ?" 

Dick  trembled.  "I — I —  was  cold  and  hungry — " 
his  eyes  sought  the  food  on  the  table — "and — and — 
this  gentleman  asked  me  to  come.  He's  not  to  blame ; 
he  thought  I  wanted  a  drink." 

His  new-found  friend  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled 
expression.     "Oh  take  a  glass,  stranger.     You 
it ;  and  then  help  yourself  to  the  lunch." 

Dick  shook  his  head ;  he  could  not  speak. 
36 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"Look  here  I"  broke  in  the  bartender,  with  another 
string  of  vile  language,  as  he  quickly  filled  the  empty 
glass  and  set  it  on  the  counter  before  Dick.  "You 
drink  this  er  git  out.  That  there  lunch  is  fer  our 
customers  and  we  aint  got  no  room  fer  temperance 
cranks  er  bums.  Which'll  it  be  ?  Talk  quick." 

Dick's  eyes  went  from  the  food  to  the  liquor ;  then 
to  the  saloon  man's  hard  face,  while  a  strange  hush 
fell  over  those  who  witnessed  the  scene.  Slowly  the 
stranger  swept  the  room  with  a  pleading  glance,  but 
met  only  curious  indifference  on  every  side.  Again 
he  turned  to  the  food  and  liquor,  and  put  out  his 
hand.  A  light  of  triumph  flashed  in  the  eyes  of  the 
man  behind  the  bar,  but  the  hand  was  withdrawn 
and  Dick  backed  slowly  toward  the  door.  "I  won't,'' 
he  said,  between  his  clenched  teeth,  then  to  his  would- 
be  friend,  "Thank  you  for  your  good  intention," 

The  silence  in  the  room  was  broken  by  a  shout  of 
harsh  laughter  as  the  bartender  raised  the  glass  of 
beer  he  had  drawn  for  Dick  and  mockingly  drank  him 
good  luck  as  the  poor  fellow  stepped  through  the 
doorway  leaving  warmth  and  food  behind. 

All  that  day  Dick  continued  his  search  for  work. 
Night  came  on  again  and  he  found  himself  wander- 
ing, half  dazed,  in  the  more  aristocratic  portion  of 
the  city.  He  was  too  tired  to  go  to  the  old  smelter 
again.  He  could  not  think  clearly  and  muttered  and 
mumbled  to  himself  as  he  stumbled  aimlessly  along. 

37 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

The  door  of  a  cottage  opened,  letting  out  a  flood  of 
light,  and  a  woman's  voice  called,  "Dick,  Oh  Dick, 
come  home  now;  supper  is  waiting."  And  a  lad  of 
ten,  playing  in  the  neighboring  yard  with  his  young 
companion,  answered  with  a  shout  as  he  bounded 
across  the  lawn.  Through  the  windows  our  Dick 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  cosy  home :  father,  mother, 
two  sisters,  bright  pictures,  books,  and  a  table  set  with 
snowy  linen,  shining  silver  and  sparkling  glass. 

Later,  strange  voices  seemed  to  call  him,  and  sev- 
eral times  he  paused  to  listen.  Then  someone  in  the 
distance  seemed  to  say,  "Move  on;  Move  on."  The 
words  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  his  tired  brain. 
"Move  on ;  Move  on,"  the  weary,  monotonous  strain 
continued  as  he  dragged  his  heavy  feet  along  the  pave- 
ment. "Move  on;  Move  on;"  the  words  seemed  re- 
peated just  ahead.  Who  was  it?  What  did  they 
want,  and  why  couldn't  they  let  him  rest  ?  He  drew 
near  a  large  building  with  beautiful  stained  glass 
windows,  through  which  the  light  streamed  bril- 
liantly. In  the  center  was  a  picture  of  the  Christ, 
holding  in  his  arms  a  lamb,  and  beneath,  the  inscrip- 
tion, "I  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was 
lost." 

"Move  on ;  Move  on  ;"the  words  seemed  shrieked  in 
his  ears  now,  and  looking  up  he  saw  a  steeple  in  the 
form  of  a  giant  hand,  pointing  toward  the  stormy 
sky.  "Why  of  course," — he  laughed  with  mirthless 

38 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

Mps, — "of  course, — it's  a  church.  What  a  fool-I 
ought  to  have  come  here  long  ago. — This  is  Thursday 
night  and  that  voice  is  the  bell  calling  people  to 
Prayer  Meeting." 

"I'll  be  all  right  now,"  he  continued  to  himself  as 
he  leaned  against  a  tree  near  the  building.  "I  ought 
to  have  remembered  the  church  before. — I've  set  up 
their  notices  many  a  time;  they  always  say  'Every- 
body welcome.'  Christians  won't  let  me  starve — 
they'll  help  me  earn  something  to  eat. — I'm  not  a 
beggar — not  me,"  and  he  tried  to  straighten  his  tired 
figure.  "All  I  want  is  a  chance." 

By  this  time,  well-dressed  people  were  passing 
where  Dick  stood  muttering  to  himself,  and  enter- 
ing the  open  door  of  the  church.  Then  the  organ 
began  to  play,  and  arousing  himself  by  a  supreme 
effort  of  his  will,  Dick  followed  them  into  the  build- 
ing. 

The  organ  now  filled  the  air  with  its  sweetly  solemn 
tones.  The  bell  with  its  harsh  command  to  move  on 
was  forgotten ;  and  as  Dick  sank  on  a  cushioned  seat 
near  the  door,  his  heart  was  filled  with  restful 
thoughts.  He  saw  visions  of  a  Gracious  Being  who 
cared  for  all  mankind,  and  who  had  been  all  this 
time  waiting  to  help  him.  Had  he  not  heard  his 
mother  pray,  years  ago  in  the  cabin,  "O  Lord  take 
care  o'  Dick  1 — "  How  foolish  he  had  been  to  f orgeti 


THAT  PKINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

*— Ee  ought  to  have  remembered, — but  he  would  never 
iforget  again, — never. 

The  music  and  the  singing  stopped.  The  pastor 
arose  and  read  the  lesson,  calling  particular  attention 
to  the  wordff  recorded  in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of 
Matthew:  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one 
of  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  me."  Then  after  a  long  prayer  and  another 
song,  the  man  of  God  spoke  a  few  words  about  the 
Christian's  joy  and  duty  in  helping  the  needy;  that 
the  least  of  these,  meant  those  who  needed  help,  no 
matter  what  their  positions  in  life ;  and  that  whoso- 
ever gave  aid  to  one  in  the  name  of  Christ,  glorified 
the  Master's  name  and  helped  to  enthrone  him  in  th* 
hearts  of  men. 

"The  least  of  these,"  whispered  Dick  to  himself, 
then  unconsciously  uttering  his  thoughts  in  the  dia- 
lect of  his  childhood — "that's  me  shor' ;  I  don't  reckon 
I  kin  be  much  less'n  I  am  right  now."  And  as  one 
after  another  of  the  Christians  arose  and  testified  to 
the  joy  they  found  in  doing  Christ's  work,  and  told  of 
experiences  where  they  had  been  blessed  by  being 
permitted  to  help  some  poor  one,  his  heart  warmed 
within  him,  and,  in  his  own  way,  he  thanked  God  that 
he  had  been  led  to  such  a  place  and  to  such  people. 

With  another  song,  "Praise  God  from  whom  all 
blessings  flow,"  the  congregation  was  dismissed  and 
began  slowly  passing  from  the  building,  exchanging 

40 


A  STOKT  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

greetings,  with  more  or  less  warmth,  and  remarking 
what  a  helpful  meeting  they  had  had,  and  how  much 
it  had  been  enjoyed. 

Dick  stood  near  the  door,  hat  in  hand,  patiently 
waiting.  One  by  one  the  members  passed  him ;  two 
or  three  said  "Good  Evening ;"  one  shook  him  by  the 
hand ;  but  something  in  their  faces  as  they  looked  at 
Jiis  clothing  checked  the  words  that  rose  to  his  lips, 
and  the  poor  fellow  waited,  his  story  untold.  At 
last  the  minister  came  down  the  aisle,  and  greeting 
Dick,  was  about  to  pass  out  with  the  others ;  this  was 
too  much,  and  in  a  choked  voice  the  young  man  said, 
"Sir,  may  I  speak  to  you  a  moment  ?" 

"If  you'll  be  brief,"  replied  the  preacher,  glancing 
at  his  watch.  "I  have  an  engagement  soon." 

Dick  told  his  story  in  a  few  words.  "I'm  not 
begging,  Sir,"  he  added.  "I  thought  some  of  the 
church  members  might  have  work  that  I  could  do, 
or  might  know  where  I  could  find  employment." 

The  minister  seemed  a  little  embarrassed;  then 
beckoning  to  a  few  who  still  remained,  "Brother 
Godfrey,  here's  a  man  who  wants  work ;  do  you  know 
of  anything?" 

"Una,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  do  not,"  promptly  replied 
the  good  deacon.  "What  can  you  do?"  turning  to 
Dick.  He  made  the  usual  answer  and  the  officer  of 
Ihe  church  said  again,  "Find  it  rather  hard  to  strike 


41 


THAT  PKIXTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

anything  in  Boyd  City  I  fear ;  so  many  tramps,  you 
know.  Been  out  of  work  long  ?" 

"Yes  sir,  and  out  of  food  too." 

"Too  bad;  too  bad,"  said  the  deacon.  And  "Too 
bad;  too  bad,"  echoed  the  preacher,  and  the  other 
followers  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus.  "If  we  hear 
of  anything  we'll  let  you  know.  Where  are  you 
stopping  ?" 

"On  the  street,"  replied  Dick,  "when  I  am  not 
moved  on  by  the  police." 

"Um — Well— we'll  leave  word  here  at  the  church 
with  the  janitor  if  we  learn  of  anything." 

"Are  you  a  Christian  ?"  asked  one  good  old  mother 
in  Israel. 

"!N"o,"  stammered  poor  confused  Dick;  "I  guess 
not." 

"Do  you  drink  ?" 

"No  mam." 

<fWell,  don't  get  discouraged ;  look  to  God ;  he  can 
help  you ;  and  we'll  all  pray  for  you.  Come  and  hear 
our  Brother  French  preach ;  I  am  sure  you  will  find 
the  light.  He  is  the  best  preacher  in  the  city.  Every- 
body says  so.  Good-night." 

The  others  had  already  gone.  The  sexton  was 
turning  out  the  lights,  and  a  moment  later  Dick  found 
himself  once  more  on  the  street,  looking  with  a  grim 
smile  on  his  hunger-pinched  features,  at  the  figure  of 
the  Christ,  wrought  in  the  costly  stained  glass  win- 

42 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

dow.  "One  of  the  least  of  these,"  he  muttered 
hoarsely  to  himself.  Then  the  figure  and  the  in- 
scription slowly  faded,  as  one  by  one  the  lights  went 
out,  until  at  last  it  vanished  and  he  seemed  to  hear 
his  mother's  voice :  "I  ax  ye  fair — O  Lord — take  ker 
o'  Dick-fer  Jesus  sake— Amen." 

The  door  shut  with  a  hang.  A  key  grated  in  the 
heavy  lock  that  guarded  the  treasures  of  the  church ; 
and  the  footsteps  of  the  church's  humblest  servant 
died  away  in  the  distance,  as  Dick  turned  to  move  on 
again. 

The  city  rumbled  on  with  its  business  and  its  pleas- 
ure, its  merriment  and  crime.  Guardians  of  the  law 
protected  the  citizens  by  seeing  to  it  that  no  ill-dressed 
persons  sat  too  long  upon  the  depot  benches,  shel- 
tered themselves  from  the  bitter  wind  in  the  open 
hall-way,  or  looked  too  hungrily  in  at  the  bakery 
windows. 

On  the  avenue  the  homes  grew  hushed  and  still, 
with  now  and  then  a  gleam  of  light  from  some  library 
or  sitting-room  window,  accompanied  by  the  tones  of 
a  piano  or  guitar, — or  sound  of  laughing  voices.  And 
the  house  of  God  stood  silent,  dark  and  cold,  with 
the  figure  of  the  Christ  upon  the  window  and  the 
spire,  like  a  giant  hand,  pointing  upward. 


43 


CHAPTER  III. 


DECLARE  to  goodness,  if  that  ain't  the 
third  tramp  I've  chased  away  from  this 
house  to-day !  I'll  have  father  get  a  dog  if 
this  keeps  up.  They  do  pester  a  body  pretty  nigh  to 
death."  Mrs.  Wilson  slammed  the  kitchen  door  and 
returned  to  her  dish-washing.  "The  ide'  of  givin* 
good  victuals  to  them  that's  able  to  work — not  much 
I  won't — Let  'em  do  like  I  do."  And  the  good  lady 
plied  her  dish-cloth  with  such  energy  that  her  daugh- 
ter hastily  removed  the  clean  plates  and  saucers  from 
the  table  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  drying  them  again. 

"But  this  man  wanted  work,  didn't  he  mother  ?" 
asked  Clara,  "And  I  heard  you  tell  father  at  dinner 
that  you  wanted  someone  to  fix  the  cowshed  and 
clean  up  the  back  yard." 

"There  you  go  again,"  angrily  snapped  the  older 
woman,  resting  her  wet  hands  upon  her  hips  and  paus- 
ing in  her  labor,  the  better  to  emphasize  her  words ; 
"Allus  a  criticism'  and  a  findin'  fault — Since  you 
took  up  with  that  plagy  church  there  aint  been  nothin' 
right." 

47 


"Forgive  me  mother,  I  didn't  think,"  said  the 
daughter,  looking  into  the  wrathful  black  eyes  of  her 
parent. 

"Didn't  think,"  whined  the  woman,  "You  never 
think  of  nothin'  but  your  blamed  Young  Folks'  So- 
ciety or  Sunday  School.  Your  mother  an'  father 
and  home  aint  good  enough  fer  your  saintship  now-a- 
days.  I  wish  to  goodness  you'd  never  heard  tell  of 
that  preacher;  the  whole  set's  a  batch  of  stingy 
hypocrites."  She  turned  to  her  dish-washing  again 
with  a  splash.  "An'  there's  George  Udell,  he  aint 
going  to  keep  hanging  around  forever,  I  can  tell  you ; 
there's  too  many  that  'ud  j  ump  at  his  offer,  fer  him  to 
allus  be  a  dancin'  after  you ;  an'  when  you  git  through 
with  your  foolishness,  you'll  find  him  married  and 
settled  down  with  some  other  girl,  an'  what  me  and 
your  father'll  do  when  we  git  too  old  to  work,  the 
Lord  only  knows.  If  you  had  half  sense  you'd  take 
him  too  quick." 

Clara  made  no  reply,  but  finishing  her  work  in 
silence,  hung  up  her  apron  and  left  the  kitchen. 

Later,  when  Mrs.  Wilson  went  into  the  pleasant 
little  sitting-room,  where  the  flowers  in  the  window 
would  bloom,  and  the  pet  canary  would  sing  in  spite 
of  the  habitual  crossness  of  the  mistress  «f  the  house, 
she  found  her  daughter  attired  for  the  street. 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  she  asked;  "'Some 
more  foolishness,  I'll  be  bound;  you  just  take  them 

48 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

things  off  and  stay  to  home;  this  here  weather  ainf 
fit  fer  you  to  be  trapsin  round  in.  You'll  catch  your 
death  of  cold ;  then  I'll  have  to  take  care  of  you.  I 
do  believe,  Clara  Wilson,  you  are  the  most  ungrateful- 
est  girl  I  ever  see." 

"But  mother,  I  just  must  go  to  the  printing  office 
this  afternoon.  Our  society  meets  to-morrow  night 
and  I  must  look  after  the  printing  of  the  constitution 
and  by-laws." 

"What  office  you  goin'  to  ?"  asked  the  mother 
sharply. 

"Why,  George's,  of  course,"  said  Clara;  "You 
know  I  wouldn't  go  anywhere  else." 

"€)h  well,  get  along  then ;  I  guess  the  weather  won't 
hurt  you ;  its  clearin'  off  a  little  anyway.  I'll  fix  up 
a  bit  and  you  can  bring  George  home  to  supper." 
And  the  old  lady  grew  quite  cheerful  as  she  watched 
the  sturdy  figure  of  her  daughter  making  her  way 
down  the  board  walk  and  through  the  front  gate. 

George  Udell  was  a  thriving  job  printer  in  Boyd 
City,  and  stood  high  in  favor  of  the  public  generally, 
and  of  the  Wilson  family  in  particular,  as  might  be 
gathered  from  the  conversation  of  Clara's  mother. 
"I  tell  you,"  she  said,  in  her  high-pitched  tones, 
"George  Udell  is  good  enough  fer  any  gal.  He  don't 
put  on  as  much  style  as  some,  an'  aint  much  of  a 
church  man ;  but  when  it  comes  to  makin'  money  he's 
all  there,  an'  that's  the  main  thing  now-a-days." 
*  40 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

As  for  Clara,  she  was  not  insensible  to  the  good 
points  in  Mr.  Udell's  character,  of  which  money- 
making  was  by  no  means  the  most  important,  for  she 
had  known  him  ever  since  the  time,  when  as  a  long, 
lank,  awkward  boy,  he  had  brought  her  picture  cards 
and  bits  of  bright-colored  printing.  She  was  a  wee 
bit  of  a  girl  then,  but  somehow,  her  heart  told  her 
that  her  friend  was  more  honest  than  most  boys,  and, 
as  she  grew  older,  in  spite  of  her  religious  convictions, 
she  had  never  been  forced  to  change  her  mind. 

But  George  Udell  was  not  a  Christian.  Some  said 
he  was  an  infidel ;  at  least  he  was  not  a  member  of  any 
church ;  and  when  approached  on  the  subject,  always 
insisted  that  he  did  not  know  what  he  believed ;  and 
that  he  doubted  very  much  if  many  church  mem- 
bers knew  more  of  their  beliefs.  Furthermore;  he 
had  been  heard  upon  several  occasions  to  make  slight- 
ing remarks  about  the  church,  contrasting  its  present 
standing  and  work  with  the  law  of  love  and  helpful- 
ness as  laid  down  by  the  Master  they  professed  to 
follow. 

True,  no  one  had  ever  heard  him  say  that  he  did 
not  believe  in  Christ  or  God.  But  what  of  that? 
Had  he  not  said  that  he  did  not  believe  in  the  church  ? 
And  was  not  that  enough  to  mark  him  as  an  infidel  ? 

Clara,  in  spite  of  her  home  training,  was,  as  has 
been  shown,  a  strong  church  member,  a  zealous  Chris- 
tian, and  an  earnest  worker  for  the  cause  of  Christ. 

50 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

Being  a  practical  girl,  she  admitted  that  there  were 
many  faults  in  the  church  of  today ;  and  that  Chris- 
tians did  not  always  live  up  to  their  professions.  But, 
bless  you,  you  could  not  expect  people  to  be  perfect ; 
and  the  faults  that  existed  in  the  church  were  there 
because  all  churches  were  not  the  same,  which  really 
means,  you  of  course  understand — "all  churches  are 
not  of  my  denomination."  And  so,  in  spite  of  her 
regard  for  the  printer,  she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  link  her  destiny  with  one  whose  eternal  future 
was  so  insecure,  and  whose  life  did  not  chord  with 
that  which  was  to  her,  the  one  great  keynote  of  the  un- 
iverse, the  church.  And  then,  too,  does  not  the  good 
book  say:  "Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked  with  unbe- 
lievers." What  could  that  mean  if  not,  "Do  not 
marry  an  infidel  ?" 

While  Clara  was  thinking  of  all  these  things  and 
making  her  way  through  the  mud  of  Boyd  City  streets, 
Udell,  at  the  printing  office,  was  having  a  particularly 
trying  time.  To  begin  with,  his  one  printer  had  gone 
off  on  a  spree  the  Saturday  before  and  failed  to  re- 
turn. Then  several  rush  jobs  had  come  in;  he  had 
tried  in  vain  to  get  help ;  the  boy  had  come  late  to  the 
office,  and,  altogether  it  seemed  as  though  everything 
had  happened  that  could  happen  to  make  things  un- 
comfortable. 

Clara  arrived  on  the  scene  just  when  the  confusion 
was  at  its  height;  the  room  was  littered  with  scraps 

51 


THAT  PKINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

of  paper  and  inky  cloths ;  the  famous  printer's  towel 
was  lying  on  the  desk;  the  stove,  with  its  hearth 
piled  full  of  ashes,  emitted  smoke  and  coal  gas  freely ; 
and  the  printer  was  emptying  the  vials  of  his  wrath 
ivpon  the  public  in  general,  because  all  wanted  their 
printing  done  at  the  same  instant ;  while  the  boy,  with 
a  comical  look  of  fear  upon  his  ink-stained  face,  was 
dodging  here  and  there,  striving  as  best  he  could  to 
avoid  the  threatening  disaster. 

The  young  girl's  coming  was  like  a  burst  of  sun- 
light. In  an  instant  the  storm  was  past.  The  boy's 
face  resumed  at  once  its  usual  expression  of  lofty  in- 
difference ;  the  fire  burned  freely  in  the  stove ;  the 
towel  was  whisked  into  its  proper  corner;  and  she 
was  greeted  with  the  first  smile  that  had  shown  on  the 
printer's  face  that  day.  "You're  just  in  time,"  he 
cried  gaily,  as  he  seated  her  in  the  cleanest  corner  of 
the  office. 

"I  should  think  so,"  she  answered,  smiling,,  and 
glancing  curiously  about  the  room ;  "looks  as  though 
you  wanted  a  woman  here." 

"I  do,"  declared  George.  "I've  always  wanted  a 
woman ;  haven't  I  told  you  that  often  enough  ?" 

"For  shame,  George  Udell.  I  came  here  on  busi- 
ness," Clara  answered  with  glowing  cheeks. 

"Well,  that's  mighty  important  business  for  me," 
Udell  answered.  "You  see — "  but  Clara  interrupted 
him. 

52 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"What's  the  matter  here  anyway  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh — nothing;  only  my  man  is  off  on  a  drunken 
spree,  and  everybody  wants  their  stuff  at  the  same 
time.  I  worked  until  two  o'clock  last  night;  that's 
why  I  wasn't  at  your  house ;  and  I  must  work  tonight 
too.  I'm — Yes,  there's  another;"  as  the  telephone 
rang.  "Hello! — Yes,  this  is  Udell's  job  office — We 
have  the  matter  set  up  and  will  send  you  proof  as 
soon  as  possible — I'm  sorry,  but  we  are  doing  the 
best  we  can — Yes — all  right — I'll  get  at  it  right 
away-three  o'clock-can't  possibly  get  it  out  before"- 
bang !  He  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"I  tell  you  this  is  making  me  thin.  If  you  had 
half  the  influence  at  headquarters  that  you  profess  to 
have,  I  wish  you'd  pray  them  to  send  me  a  printer." 

"Why  don't  you  get  help  ?" 

"Get  help  ? — Get  nothing !  I  tell  you  I've  prayed, 
and  threatened,  and  bribed,  and  promised,  as  well  as 
the  best  prayer-meeting  church  member  you've  got, 
and  I  can't  get  the  sign  of  an  answer.  Reckon  the 
.wire  must  be  down,"  he  added,  a  queer  shadow  of  a 
smile  twitching  up  the  corners  of  his  mouth ;  "Y-e-s," 
as  the  phone  rang  again.  "I  wish  that  wire  was 
down." 

The  girl  noted  the  worn  look  on  his  rugged  face, 
and  when  he  had  hung  up  the  receiver  again,  said: 
"I  wish  I  could  help  you,  George." 

"You  can,  Clara, — you  know  you  can,"  he  an- 
53 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

swered  quickly.  "You  can  give  me  more  help  than 
the  ghost  of  Franklin  himself.  I  don't  mind  the 
hard  work,  and  the  worry  wouldn't  amount  to  any- 
thing if  only — if  only—  "  he  stopped,  as  Clara  shook 
her  head. 

"George,  you  know  I  have  told  you  again  and 
again — 

"But  Clara,"  he  broke  in,-"I  wouldn't  in  any  way 
interfere  with  your  church  work.  I'd  even  go  with 
you  every  Sunday,  and  you  could  pay  the  preacher 
as  much  as  you  liked.  Don't  you  see,  dear,  it  couldn't 
possibly  make  any  difference?" 

"You  don't  understand,  George,"  she  answered, 
"and  I  can't  make  you  see  it ;  there's  no  use  talking, 
I  can't,  until  you  change  your  ideas  about — " 

The  door  opened  and  a  weary,  hungry,  unshaven 
face  looked  in. — The  door  opened  wider  and  a  figure 
came  shuffling  timidly  toward  the  man  and  girl. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  said  Udell,  gruffly,  a  little 
put  out  at  such  an  interruption. 

"Are  you  the  foreman  of  this  office  ?"  said  the  new- 
comer. 

"Yes,  I'm  the  boss." 

"Do  you  need  any  help  ?    I'm  a  printer." 

"You  a  printer  ?"  exclaimed  Udell.  "What's  the 
matter  ? — No," — he  interrupted  himself. — "Never 
mind  what  the  matter  is.  I  don't  care  if  you're 
wanted  for  horse  stealing.  Can  you  go  to  work  now  ?" 

54 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

The  man  nodded.  Udell  showed  him  to  a  case  and 
placed  copy  before  him.  "There  you  are,  and  the 
faster  you  work  the  better  I'll  pay  you." 

Again  the  other  nodded,  and  without  a  word  caught 
up  a  stick  and  reached  for  the  type. 

George  turned  back  to  Clara  who  had  risen.  "Don't 
go  yet,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  must ;  I  have  been  here  too  long  now ; 
you  have  so  much  to  do;  I  only  wanted  to  get  that 
society  printing."  George  handed  her  the  package. 
"Who  is  he  ?"  she  whispered,  with  a  look  toward  the 
newcomer. 

"Don't  know ;  some  bum  I  suppose ;  looks  like  he 
had  been  on  a  big  spree.  I  only  hope  I  can  keep  him 
sober  long  enough  to  help  me  over  this  rush." 

"You're  wrong  there,"  said  the  girl,  moving  to- 
ward the  door,  "He  asked  for  work  at  our  house  early 
this  morning ;  that  man  is  no  drunkard,  neither  is  he 
a  common  tramp." 

"How  do  you  know  ?" 

"Same  as  I  know  you,  by  the  looks,"  laughed 
Clara.  "Go  talk  to  him  and  find  out.  You  see  your 
prayer  was  answered,  even  if  you  did  pray  like  a 
church  member.  Who  knows,  perhaps  the  wire  is 
not  down  after  all,"  and  she  was  gone. 

The  printer  turned  to  his  work  again  with  a  lighter 
heart  for  this  bit  of  brightness.  Somehow  he  felt 
that  things  would  come  out  all  right  some  day,  and  he 

55 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

would  do  the  best  he  could  to  be  patient;  and,  for 
Clara's  sake,  while  he  could  not  be  all  she  wished,  he 
would  make  of  himself  all  that  he  could. 

For  a  while,  he  was  very  busy  with  some  work  in 
the  rear  of  the  office;  then  remembering  Clara's 
strange  words  about  the  tramp,  he  went  over  to  the 
case  where  the  new  man  sat  perched  upon  his  high 
stool.  The  stranger  was  working  rapidly  and  doing 
good  work.  George  noticed  though,  that  the  hand 
which  held  the  stick  trembled ;  and  that  sometimes  a 
letter  dropped  from  the  nervous  fingers.  "What's 
the  matter  ?"  he  asked,  eyeing  him  keenly. 

The  man,  without  lifting  his  head,  muttered, 
"Nothing." 

"Are  you  sick  ?" 

A  shake  of  the  head  was  the  only  answer. 

"Been  drinking  ?" 

"No."  This  time  the  head  was  lifted  and  two  keen 
gray  eyes,  filled  with  mingled  suffering  and  anger, 
looked  full  in  the  boss's  face.  "I've  been  without 
work  for  some  time  and  am  hungry,  that's  all."  The 
head  bent  again  over  the  case  and  the  trembling 
fingers  reached  for  the  type. 

"Hungry! — Good  God,  man!"  exclaimed  Udell. 
"Why  didn't  you  say  so  ?" — and  turning  quickly  to 
the  boy  he  said,  "Here,  skip  down  to  that  restaurant 
and  bring  a  big  hot  lunch.  Tell  'em  to  get  a  hustle 
on  too." 

56 


"  Here  vou  are;  come  and  fill  up." 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

The  boy  fled  and  George  continued  talking  to  him- 
self; "Hungry — and  I  thought  he  had  been  on  a 
spree.  I  ought  to  have  known  better  than  that.  I've 
been  hungry  myself — Clara's  right;  he  is  no  bum 
printer.  Great  shade  of  the  immortal  Benjamin  F ! 
but  he's  plucky  though — and  proud — you  could  see 
that  by  the  look  in  his  eye  when  I  asked  him  if  he'd 
been  drunk — poor  fellow — knows  his  business  too — 
just  the  man  I've  been  looking  for, I'll  bet — Huh— 
wonder  if  the  wire  is  down."  And  then  as  the  boy 
returned  with  the  basket  of  hot  eatables,  he  called 
cheerily,  "  Here  you  are ;  come  and  fill  up ;  no  hungry 
man  in  this  establishment,  rush  or  no  rush. ' '  He  was 
answered  by  a  clatter  as  half  a  stick  full  of  type 
dropped  from  the  trembling  hand  of  the  stranger. 
"Thank  you,"  the  poor  fellow  tried  to  say,  as  he 
staggered  toward  the  kind-hearted  infidel,  and  then, 
as  he  fell,  Dick's  outstretched  fingers  just  touched 
Udell's  feet. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


T  was  a  strange  coincidence  that  the  Rev. 
James  Cameron  should  have  preached  his 
sermon  on  "The  Church  of  the  Future,"  the 
Sunday  following  the  incidents  which  have  been  re- 
lated in  the  preceding  chapters.  If  he  had  only 
known,  Jlev.  Cameron  might  have  found  a  splendid 
illustration,  very  much  to  the  point,  in  the  story  of 
Dick  Faikner's  coming  to  Boyd  City  and  his  search 
for  employment.  But  the  minister  knew  nothing  of 
Dick  or  his  trouble.  He  had  no  particular  incident  in 
mind;  but  simply  desired  to  see  a  more  practical 
working  of  Christianity.  In  other  words,  he  wished 
to  see  Christians  doing  the  things  that  Christ  did, 
and  using,  in  matters  of  the  church,  the  same  business 
sense  which  they  brought  to  bear  upon  their  own 
affairs.  He  thought  of  the  poverty,  squalor  and 
wretchedness  of  some  for  whom  Christ  died,  and  of 
the  costly  luxuries  of  the  church  into  whose  hands 
the  Master  had  given  the  care  of  these.  Tie  thought  ->f 
the  doors  to  places  of  sin,  swinging  wide  before  the 
young,  while  the  doors  of  the  church  were  often  closed 

61 


THAT  PKINTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

ngainst  them.  He  thought  of  the  secret  societies  and 
orders,  doing  the  work  that  the  church  was  meant  to 
do,  and  of  the  honest,  moral  men,  who  refused  to 
identify  themselves  with  the  church,  though  pro- 
fessing helief  in  Jesus  Christ ;  and,  thinking  of  these 
things  and  more  like  them,  he  was  forced  to  say  that 
the  church  must  change  her  methods;  that  she  must 
talk  less  and  do  more ;  that  she  must  rest  her  claims 
to  the  love  of  mankind  where  Christ  rested  his ;  upon 
the  works  that  He  did. 

He  saw  that  the  church  was  proving  false  to  the 
Christ ;  that  her  service  was  a  service  of  the  lips  only  ; 
that  her  worship  was  form  and  ceremony — not  of 
the  heart — a  hollow  mockery.  He  saw  that  she  was 
not  touching  the  great  problems  of  life;  and  that, 
while  men  were  dying  for  want  of  spiritual  bread,  she 
was  offering  them  only  the  stones  of  ecclesiastical 
pride  and  denominational  egotism.  He  saw  all  this, 
and  yet, — because  he  was  a  strong  man — remained 
full  of  love  for  Christ  and  taught  that  those  things 
were  not  Christianity  but  the  lack  of  it;  and  placed 
the  blame  where  it  justly  belonged,  upon  the  teaching 
and  doctrines  of  men,  and  not  upon  the  principles  of 
Christ;  but  upon  the  shepherds,  who  fattened  them- 
selves, while  the  starving  sheep  grew  thin  and  lean; 
and  not  upon  Him  who  came  to  seek  and  save  that 
which  was  lost. 

Adam  Goodrich  walked  out  of  the  church  with  hia 


\  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

aristocratic  nose  elevated  nven  beyond  its  usual  angle. 
He  was  so  offended  by  the  plebeian  tastes  of  hia 
pastor  that  he  almost  failed  to  notice  Banker  Lindsley 
who  passed  him  in  the  vestibule. 

"Fine  discourse — fine  discourse,  Mr.  Goodrich." 

<rUh — "  grunted  Adam,  tossing  his  head. 

"Just  the  kind  of  sermon  we  need ;"  went  on  Mr. 
'Lindsley,  who  was  not  a  church  member.  "Practical 
and  fearless;  I'm  glad  to  have  heard  him.  I  shall 
eome  again ;"  and  he  hurried  out  of  the  house. 

It  was  not  often  that  a  sermon  was  honored  by 
being  discussed  at  the  Goodrich  table;  nor  indeed, 
that  any  topic  of  religion  was  mentioned ;  but  Adam 
could  not  contain  himself  after  the  unheard  of  things 
which  his  pastor  had  preached  that  morning.  "It's  a 
pity  that  Cameron  hasn't  better  judgment,"  he  de- 
clared, in  a  voice  that  showed  very  plainly  the  state 
of  his  mind.  "He  could  easily  make  his  church  the 
first  church  in  the  city  if  he  would  only  let  well 
enough  alone  and  not  be  all  the  time  stirring  things 
up.  He  is  a  good  speaker,  carries  himself  like  an 
aristocrat,  and  comes  from  a  good  family;  but  he  is 
forever  saying  things  that  jar  the  best  people.  He 
might  be  drawing  half  as  much  again  salary  if  only  he 
would  work  to  get  those  people  who  are  worth  some- 
thing into  the  church,  instead  of  spending  all  his 
time  with  the  common  herd." 

"Perhaps  he  thinks  the  common  herd  worth  saving 

aa 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

too,"  suggested  Miss  Amy,  a  beautiful  girl  of  nine- 
teen, with  dark  hair  and  eyes. 

"What  do  you  know  about  it  ?"  replied  the  father. 
"You're  getting  your  head  full  of  those  silly  Young 
People's  Society  notions,  and  your  friends  will  drop 
you  if  you  don't  pay  more  attention  to  your  social 
duties.  The  common  classes  are  all  right  of  course, 
but  they  can't  expect  to  associate  with  us.  Cameron 
has  his  mission  schools ;  why  isn't  that  enough  ?  And 
he  makes  three  times  as  many  calls  on  South  Broad- 
way and  over  by  the  Shops,  as  he  does  on  our  street." 

"Perhaps  he  thinks,  'they  that  are  whole  have  no 
need  of  a  physician,'  "  again  suggested  the  young 
lady. 

"Amy,"  said  Mrs.  Goodrich,  "how  often  have  I 
told  you  that  it's  not  the  thing  to  be  always  repeating 
the  Bible.  No  one  does  it  now.  Why  will  you  make 
yourself  so  common  ?" 

"You  agree  with  Cameron  perfectly,  mother,"  put 
in  Frank,  the  only  son;  "he  said  this  morning  that 
no  one  used  their  Bibles  now-a-days." 

"It's  not  necessary  to  be  always  throwing  your  re- 
ligion  at  people's  heads,"  answered  the  father,  "and 
as  for  Cameron's  new-fangled  notion  about  the  church 
being  more  helpful  to  those  who  need  help,  he'll  find 
out  that  it  won't  work.  We  are  the  ones  who  pay  his 
salary,  and  if  he  can't  preach  the  things  we  want  to 
hear,  he'll  find  himself  going  hungry,  or  forced  to 

64 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

dig  along  with  those  he  is  so  worried  about.  I  don't 
iind  anything  in  the  Bible  that  tells  me  to  associate 
with  every  low-down  person  in  the  city,  and  I  guess 
I'm  as  good  a  Christian  as  anyone  in  the  church." 

"Brother  Cameron  said  that  helping  people  and 
associating  with  them  were  two  different  things,"  said 
Amy. 

"Well,  it  means  the  same,  anyway,  in  the  eyes  ot 
the  world,"  retorted  the  father. 

"Fancy,"  said  Frank,  "my  going  down  the  street 
with  that  tramp  who  called  at  the  office  last  week. 
According  to  Cameron,  you  ought  to  have  invited  him 
home  and  asked  him  to  stay  with  us  until  he  found 
a  job,  I  suppose.  Amy  would  have  liked  to  meet  him, 
and  to  make  his  visit  with  us  pleasant.  He  was  not 
bad-looking,  barring  his  clothes  and  a  few  whiskers." 

"Who  was  that,  Mr.  Goodrich  ?"  inquired  the  wife. 

"Oh,  an  impudent  fellow  that  Frank  let  into  the 
office  the  other  day ;  he  claimed  that  he  was  a  printer 
and  wanted  work;  said  that  he  was  thrown  out  of 
employment  by  the  Kansas  City  strike;  anyone  could 
see  that  he  was  a  fraud  through  and  through,  just 
Cameron's  kind.  If  I  had  my  way  I  would  give  him 
work  that  he  wouldn't  want.  Such  people  are  getting 
altogether  too  numerous,  and  there  will  be  no  room 
for  a  respectable  man  if  this  thing  keeps  up.  I  don't 
know  what  we'll  come  to  if  we  have  many  such  ser- 
mons as  that  this  morning ;  they  want  the  earth  now." 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"They'd  get  Heaven  too  if  Cameron  had  his  way/' 
put  in  Frank  again.  "Won't  it  be  fine  when  the 
church  becomes  a  home  for  every  wandering  Willie 
who  happens  along?" 

"Did  not  Christ  intend  His  church  to  be  a  home  for 
the  homeless?"  asked  the  sister. 

"Amy,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Goodrich,  "you  are  get- 
ting too  many  of  those  fanciful  notions;  you  will 
learn  in  time  that  the  church  is  meant  to  go  to  on 
Sundays,  and  that  people  who  know  what  is  demanded 
of  them  by  the  best  society,  leave  socials,  aids,  mis- 
sions, and  such  things  to  the  lower  classes." 

"Yes,"  answered  Frank,  as  he  arose  to  leave  the 
table — "and  don't  go  looking  up  that  bum  printer  to 
teach  him  the  way  of  the  Lord." 

The  reader  must  not  think  that  the  Goodrichs  were 
unworthy  members  of  the  church;  their  names  were 
all  on  the  roll  of  membership,  and  Frank  and  Amy 
were  also  active  members  of  the  Young  People's  So- 
cieties. Beside  this,  Adam  contributed  liberally  (in 
his  own  eyes  at  least)  to  the  support  of  the  gospel; 
and  gave,  now  and  then,  goodly  sums  set  opposite  his 
name  on  subscription  lists,  for  various  charitable 
purposes ;  although  he  was  very  careful,  withal,  that 
his  gifts  to  God  never  crippled  his  business  interests, 
and  managed,  in  religious  matters,  to  make  a  little 
go  a  long  way. 

The  pastor  of  the  Jerusalem  Church,  having  been 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

called  to  attend  a  funeral,  was  not  present  at  the 
meeting  of  the  Bojd  City  Ministerial  Association, 
following  his  sermon,  and  the  field  was  left  open  for 
his  brethren,  who  assembled  in  the  lecture  room  of 
the  Zion  Church  on  Monday  morning.  After  the 
Association  had  been  called  to  order  by  the  president, 
the  reports  of  the  work  given  by  the  various  pastors 
had  been  heard,  and  some  unfinished  business  trans- 
acted, good  old  Father  Season  arose,  and,  in  his 
calm,  impassioned  manner,  addressed  the  Chair. 

"Brethren,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  how  you  all 
feel  about  it,  but  I  would  like  to  know  what  the  Asso- 
ciation thinks  about  Brother  Cameron's  sermon  yes- 
terday. Now,  I  don't  want  to  be  misunderstood, 
Brethren;  I  haven't  a  particle  of  fault  to  find  with 
Brother  Cameron.  I  love  him  as  a  man;  I  admire 
him  as  a  preacher ;  and  I  believe  that  whatever  he  has 
said  he  meant  for  the  best.  But,  Brother  Cameron 
is  a  young  man  yet,  and  I  have  heard  a  good  deal  of 
talk  about  the  things  he  said  Sabbath  morning ;  and  I 
would  just  like  to  know  what  you  Brethren  think 
about  it.  Have  any  of  you  heard  anything?"  Six 
reverend  heads  nodded  that  they  had,  and  the  speaker 
continued : 

"Well,  I  thought  probably  you  would  hear  some- 
thing, and  with  no  harm  meant  toward  our  Brother, 
I  would  like  to  have  you  express  yourselves.  I  have 
been  in  the  ministry  nearly  forty  years  now,  and  I 

07 


THAT  PRIXTER  OF  UDELL'S 

have  never  heard  such  things  as  people  say  he  said. 
And,  Brethren,  I'm  awfully  afraid  that  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  truth  in  it  all — a  good  deal  of  truth  in  it 
all;"  and  slowly  shaking  his  head  the  old  man  took 
his  seat. 

The  Rev.  Jeremiah  Wilks  was  on  his  feet  instantly, 
and,  speaking  in  a  somewhat  loud  and  nervous  man- 
ner, said :  "Mr.  Chairman,  I  was  coming  down  town 
early  this  morning,  after  some  thread  and  ribbons 
and  things  for  my  wife,  and  Sister  Thurston,  who 
runs  that  little  store  on  Third  Street — you  know 
she's  a  member  of  my  church,  you  know — and  always 
gives  me  things  lots  cheaper  than  I  can  get  them  any- 
where else,  because  she's  a  member  of  my  church,  you 
know — she  says  to  me  that  Brother  Cameron  said 
that  the  average  church  of  to-day  was  the  biggest 
fraud  on  earth.  Now  she  was  there  and  heard  him. 
I  don't  know  of  course,  whether  he  really  said  that 
or  not;  that  is,  I  mean,  you  know, — I  don't  know 
whether  he  meant  it  that  way  or  not.  But  I've  heard 
him  say  myself,  that  he  didn't  think  the  church  was 
doing  all  she  might  along  some  lines.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  means  all  the  churches  or  only  his  own. 
My  people  gave  fifteen  dollars  for  foreign  missions 
last  year,  and  the  Ladies'  Aid  paid  fifty  dollars  on 
my  salary.  Besides  that,  they  bought  me  a  new  over- 
coat last  winter,  and  it  will  last  me  through  next 
winter  too.  They  paid  eighteen  dollars  for  that,  I'm 

68 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

told ;  and  of  course  they  got  it  cheap  because  it  was  for 
me,  you  know.  And  we  gave  a  pound  social  to 
Sister  Grady,  whose  husband  died  some  time  ago,  you 
know.  It  took  almost  all  her  money  to  pay  funeral 
expenses — She's  a  member  of  my  church  you  know; 
so  was  he,  poor  man ;  he's  gone  now.  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  about  Brother  Cameron's  church;  we're  doing 
all  we  can;  and  I  don't  think  it's  right  for  him  to 
talk  against  the  work  of  the  Lord."  The  reverend 
gentleman  resumed  his  seat  with  the  satisfied  air  of 
a  school  boy  who  has  just  succeeded  in  hitting  a  hor- 
net's nest,  and  devoutly  wishes  that  someone  would 
come  along  to  share  the  fun. 

Little  Hugh  Cockrell  arose,  and,  crossing  his  hands, 
meekly  spoke:  "Now,  Brethren,  I  don't  think  we 
ought  to  be  hasty  in  regard  to  this  matter.  I  would 
advise  caution.  We  must  give  the  subject  due  and 
careful  consideration.  We  all  respect  and  love 
Brother  Cameron.  Let  us  not  be  hasty  in  condemning 
him.  You  know  the  Scriptures  say,  Judge  not,  and  I 
believe  we  ought  to  be  careful.  We  don't  know  what 
Cameron  meant  exactly.  Brethren,  let  us  try  to  find 
out.  I  know  I  have  heard  a  great  many  things,  and 
some  of  my  members  say  that  he  spoke  rather  slight- 
ingly of  the  ministry  as  a  whole,  and  seemed  to  think 
that  the  church  was  not  practical  enough,  and  my 
wife  is  a  good  deal  hurt  about  some  things  that  lie 
said  about  the  clergy.  But,  let's  be  careful.  I  don't 

69 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

want  to  believe  that  our  Brother  would  cast  a  slur 
in  any  way  upon  us  or  the  church.  Let's  be  cautious 
and  work  in  a  Christianlike  manner;  find  out  by 
talking  with  people  on  the  street  and  in  their  homes, 
what  he  said,  and  above  all,  don't  let  Cameron  know 
how  we  feel.  We  ought  not  to  be  hasty,  Brethren, 
about  judging  our  Brother." 

There  were  nods  of  approval  as  the  minister  took 
his  seat,  for  he  was  much  admired  in  the  Association 
because  of  his  piety,  and  much  respected  for  his  judg- 
ment. All  knew  that  nothing  could  possibly  harm 
them  if  they  followed  Rev.  Cockrell's  advice. 

Then  the  Rev.  Dr.  Frederick  Hartzel  reared  Us 
stoop-shouldered,  narrow-chested,  but  commanding 
figure,  and,  in  a  most  impressive  and  scholarly  man- 
ner addressed  the  Association. 

"Of  course  I  don't  know  anything  about  this  mat- 
ter, Brethren;  it's  all  news  to  me.  I  am  so  confined 
by  my  studies  that  I  go  on  the  street  very  little,  and, 
when  I  do  go  out,  my  mind  is  so  full  of  the  deep 
•jthings  of  the  Scriptures,  that  I  find  it  hard  to  retain 
anything  that  has  to  do  with  the  commonplace  in 
life ;  and  in-as-much  as  the  reverend  gentleman  failed 
to  consult  me  as  to  his  sermon,  which  I  understand  he 
calls  The  Church  of  the  Future,  I  am, unable  to  say 
at  present  whether  his  position  is  orthodox  or  not. 
But  Brethren,  of  one  thing  I  am  sure,  and  I  don't 
care  what  Cameron  or  any  other  man  thinks ;  the  or- 

70 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

thodox  church  of  to-day  is  the  power  of  God  unto 
salvation.  God  intended  that  we  ministers  should  be 
His  representatives  on  earth,  and  as  such,  we  ought  to 
have  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  grandeur  and  nobility 
of  our  calling.  After  years  of  study  on  the  part  of 
myself,  and  after  much  consultation  with  other  emi- 
nent men,  I  give  it  as  my  opinion  that  the  church  of 
the  future  will  be  the  same  as  the  church  of  the  past. 
All  denominations — that  is,  all  evangelical  denomi- 
nations, are  built  upon  a  rock.  Upon  this  rock  I 
will  build  my  church,  Matthew  16-18.  Brethren,  we 
are  secure;  even  the  gates  of  Hades  cannot  prevail 
against  us ;  and  it  is  proven  by  the  scholarship  of  the 
world,  that  we  shall  be  the  same  in  the  future  as  we 
have  been  in  the  past.  Rev.  Cameron,  whatever  may 
be  his  opinions,  cannot  harm  so  glorious  an  institu- 
tion. Why,  Brethren,  we  represent  the  brains  and 
culture  of  the  world.  Look  at  our  schools  and  semi- 
naries; we  must  be  right.  No  change  can  possibly 
come;  no  change  is  needed.  As  to  the  gentleman's 
remarks  about  the  ministry ;  if  he  made  any,  I  don't 
think  his  opinion  matters  much  anyhow,  I  under- 
stand that  he  is  not  a  graduate  of  any  regular  theo- 
logical institution ;  and  I'm  sure  that  he  cannot  harm 
my  reputation  in  the  least." 

Secure  in  the  impregnable  position  of  his  own 
learning  and  in  the  scholarship  of  his  church ;  amid 


71 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

a  hush  of  profound  awe  and  admiration,  the  learned 
gentleman  took  his  seat. 

Rev.  Hartzell's  speech  practically  finished  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  sermon  by  the  Association.  Indeed,  the 
Rev.  Frederick  nearly  always  finished  whatever  dis- 

v  «/ 

cussion  he  took  part  in.  One  or  two  of  the  remain- 
ing preachers  tried  to  speak,  but  subsided  as  soon  as 
they  caught  the  eye  of  the  scholar  fixed  upon  them, 
and  the  Association  was  adjourned,  with  a  prayer  by 
the  president  that  they  might  always  be  able  to  con- 
duct the  Master's  business  in  a  manner  well  pleasing 
in  his  sight;  and  that  they  might  have  strength  to 
always  grapple  boldly  with  questions  concerning  the 
church,  ever  proving  true  to  the  principles  of  the 
Christ,  and  following  in  His  footsteps. 

While  the  members  of  the  Ministerial  Association 
were  engaged  in  discussing  Rev.  Cameron's  much- 
abused  sermon,  the  printer,  George  Udell,  dropped  in 
at  the  office  of  Mr.  Wicks,  to  make  the  final  payment 
on  a  piece  of  property  which  he  had  purchased  some 
months  before.  Mr.  Wicks,  or  as  he  was  more  often 
called,  Uncle  Bobbie,  was  an  old  resident  of  the 
county,  an  elder  in  the  Jerusalem  Church,  and  Rev. 
Cameron's  right-hand  man. 

<rWell,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  George  the  proper 
papers,  "that  place  is  your'n,  young  man,  what  are 
ye  goin'  to  do  with  it  ?" 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"Oh  I  don't  know,"  replied  Udell,  "it's  handy  to 
have  round ;  good  building  spot,  isn't  it  ?" 

"You  bet  it  is,"  returned  the  other.  "There  aint 
no  better  in  Boyd  City,  an'  I  reckon  I  know.  Ye 
must  be  goin'  to  get  a  wife,  talking  about  buildin'  \" 

Udell  shook  his  head.  "Well,  ye  ought  to.  Let's 
see — this  is  the  third  piece  of  property  I've  sold  ye, 
aint  it  ? — all  of  'em  good  investments  too — You're 
gettin'  a  mighty  good  start  fer  a  young  man.  Don't 
it  make  ye  think  of  the  Being  what's  back  of  all  these 
blessin's  ?  Strikes  me  ye'r  too  blame  good  a  man 
to  be  livin'  without  any  religion.  George,  why  don't 
you  go  to  church  anyway  ?  Don't  ye  know  you  ought 
to?" 

"Why  don't  I  go  to  church,"  said  Udell  thought- 
fully;  "Well,  Mr.  Wicks,  I'll  tell  you  why  I  don't  go 
to  church.  Just  because  I've  got  too  much  to  do.  I 
make  my  own  way  in  the  world  and  it  takes  all  the 
business  sense  I  have  to  do  it.  The  dreamy,  vision- 
ary, speculative  sort  of  things  I  hear  at  meeting  may 
be  all  right  for  a  fellow's  soul,  but  they  don't  help 
him  much  in  taking  care  of  his  body,  and  I  can't 
afford  to  fill  my  mind  with  such  stuff.  I  am  living 
this  side  of  the  grave.  Of  course  I  like  to  hear  a 
good  talker,  and  I  enjoy  the  music,  but  their  ever- 
lasting pretending  to  be  what  they  are  not,  is  what 
gets  me.  You  take  this  town  right  here  now,"  he  con- 
tinued, pushing  his  hat  back  from  his  forehead ;  "we've 

73 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

got  ten  or  twelve  churches  and  as  many  preachers; 
they  all  say  that  they  are  following  Christ,  and  pro- 
fess to  exist  for  the  good  of  men  and  the  glory  of 
God.  And  what  are  they  actually  doing  to  make  this 
place  better  ?  There's  not  a  spot  in  this  city,  outside 
a  saloon,  where  a  man  can  spend  an  hour  when  he's 
not  at  work ;  and  not  a  sign  of  a  place  where  a  fellow 
down  on  his  luck  can  stay  all  night.  Only  last  week, 
a  clean  honest  young  printer,  who  was  out  of  money 
through  no  fault  of  his  own,  struck  me  for  a  job,  and 
before  night  fainted  from  hunger;  and  yet,  the 
preachers  say  that  Christ  told  us  to  feed  the  hungry, 
and  that  if  we  didn't  it  counted  against  us  as  though 
we  had  let  him  starve.  According  to  their  own 
teaching,  what  show  have  these  churches  in  Boyd 
City  when  they  spend  every  cent  they  can  rake 
and  scrape  to  keep  their  old  machines  running  and 
can't  feed  even  one  hungry  man?  Tour  church 
members  are  all  right  on  the  believe,  trust, 
hope,  pray  and  preach,  but  they're  not  so  much  on  the 
do.  And  I've  noticed  it's  the  do  that  counts  in  this 
'life.  Why,  their  very  idea  of  Heaven  is  that  it's  a 
loafing  place,  where  you  get  more  than  you  ask  for 
'or  have  any  right  to  expect." 

"Gettin'  a  little  excited,  ain't  ye?"  smiled  Uncle 
Bobbie,  though  there  was  a  tear  twinkling  in  his 
sharp  old  eyes. 

"Yes  I  am,"  retorted  the  other.  "It's  enough  to  ex- 
74 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

cite  anyone  who  has  a  heart  to  feel  and  eyes  to  see 
the  misery  in  this  old  world,  and  then  to  be  asked 
eternally,  'Why  don't  you  go  to  church  ?'  Why  look 
at  'em ;  they  even  let  their  own  preachers  starve  when 
they  get  too  old  to  work.  Societies  and  lodges  don't 
do  that  I  don't  mean  to  step  on  your  toes  though," 
he  added  hastily.  "You  know  that,  Uncle  Bobbie. 
You've  proven  yourself  a  Christian  to  me  in  ways 
I'll  never  forget.  My  old  mother  was  a  member  of 
the  church  and  they  let  her  go  hungry,  when  I  was  too 
little  to  take  care  of  her ;  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you  she  would  have  died  then.  But  you  fed  her,  and 
if  there's  a  Heaven,  she's  there,  and  you'll  be  thei  . 
too.  But  what  makes  me  mad  is,  that  these  fellows 
who  never  do  anything,  are  just  as  sure  of  it  as  you 
who  do  so  much." 

"Ah,  George,"  said  Wicks ;  "that  help  I  give  your 
maw  warn't  nothin'.  Do  you  think  I'd  see  her  suffer  ? 
Why,  I  knowed  her  when  she  was  a  girl." 

"I  know,  Uncle  Bobbie,  but  that  isn't  the  question. 
Why,  don't  the  church  do  some  of  the  things  they  are 
always  talking  about?" 

"Do  infidels  do  any  more  ?"  asked  Mr.  Wicks. 

"No,  they  don't,"  answered  George,  "but  they  don't 
thank  God  that  Jesus  Christ  was  crucified,  so  that 
they  might  get  to  Heaven,  either." 

"Thar's  one  fellow  that  I  didn't  feed,"  said  the 
old  man,  after  a  long  pause.  "That  same  printer 

75 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

called  here  and  I  didn't  give  him  nothin'  to  do.  I've 
thought  of  it  many  a  time  since  though,  and  asked 
the  Lord  to  forgive  me  for  sech  carelessness.  And 
so  he's  got  a  job  with  you,  has  he  ?  Well,  I'm  mighty 
!glad.  But  say,  George,  were  you  at  our  church  yes- 
terday ?" 

"No,"  answered  Udell,  "Why  ?" 

"Oh,  nothin' ;  only  I  thought  from  the  way  you've 
been  preachin'  Cameron's  sermon,  that  you'd  heard 
him  give  it,  that's  alL" 


76 


CHAPTER  V, 


[HEBE'S  only  one  girl  in  this  world  for 
me,"  whistled  Dick,  as  he  made  a  form1 
ready  for  the  press.  Only  in  his  own  mind 
ho  rendered  it,  "There's  not  one  girl  in  this  world 
for  me;"  and  from  Dick's  point  of  view  his  version 
was  the  better  one.  Thus  far  in  his  life  there  had 
come  no  woman's  influence ;  no  loving  touch  of  a  girl- 
ish hand  to  help  in  moulding  his  character ;  no  sweet 
voice  bidding  him  do  right ;  no  soft  eyes  to  look  praise 
or  blame.  He  had  only  the  memory  of  his  mother. 

It  was  less  than  a  week  ago  that  the  poor  outcast 
had  fainted  from  lack  of  food,  but  he  had  already 
become  a  fixture  in  the  office.  George  Udell  con- 
fided to  Miss  Wilson  that  he  did  not  know  how  he 
could  get  along  without  him,  and  that  he  was,  by  long 
odds,  the  best  hand  he  had  ever  had.  He  was  quick 
and  sure  in  his  work,  and  as  George  put  it,  "You  don't 
have  to  furnish  him  a  map  when  you  tell  him  to  do 
anything."  With  three  good  meals  a  day  and  a  com- 
fortable cot  in  the  office  for  the  night,  with  the  privi- 
lege of  spending  his  evenings  by  the  fire,  and  the  as- 

79 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

surance  that  there  was  work  for  him  for  many  weeks 
ahead,  it  was  no  wonder  that  Dick  whistled  as  he  bent 
over  the  stone.  Locking  up  the  form,  he  carried  it  to 
the  press  and  was  fixing  the  guide  pins,  when  the 
door  opened  and  a  young  lady  came  in. 

Dick's  whistle  stopped  instantly  and  his  face 
flushed  like  a  school  girl  as  he  gave  her  a  chair  and 
went  to  call  Udell,  who  was  in  the  other  room  trying 
to  convince  the  boy  that  the  stove  needed  a  bucket 
of  coal. 

"Faith,"  said  Dick  to  himself,  as  he  went  back  to 
the  press,  "If  there  is  one  girl  in  this  world  for 
me  I  hope  she  looks  like  that  one.  What  a  lovely 
voice,"  he  added,  as  he  carefully  examined  the  first 
impression;  "and  a  heavenly  smile;"  as  he  finished 
his  work  and  went  back  to  the  composing  case ;  "and 
what  eyes," — he  turned  sideways  to  empty  his  stick — 
"And  what  hair ;"  trying  to  read  his  copy-"a  perfect 
form;"  reaching  for  the  type  again.  "I  wonder 
who—" 

"Dick!"  shouted  Udell.  Crash  went  the  over- 
turned stool,  and,  "Yes  Sir,"  answered  the  young 
man,  with  a  very  red  face,  struggling  to  his  feet. 

A  merry  light  danced  in  the  brown  eyes,  though 
the  girlish  countenance  was  serious  enough. 

Udell  looked  at  his  assistant  in  mingled  wonder 
and  amusement.  "What's  the  matter,  Dick?"  he 
asked,  as  the  latter  came  toward  him. 

80 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"Nothing,  Sir — I  only — I  was — "  he  looked 
around  in  confusion  at  the  overturned  stool,  and  the 
type  on  the  floor. 

"Yes,  I  see  you  were,"  said  his  employer  with  a 
chuckle.  "Miss  Goodrich,  this  is  Mr.  Falkner;  per- 
haps he  can  help  us  out  of  our  difficulty.  Mr.  Falk- 
ner is  just  from  Kansas  City/'  he  added,  "and  is  up 
in  all  the  latest  things  in  printing." 

"Oh  yes,"  and  Amy's  eyes  showed  their  interest. 
"You  see,  Mr.  Falkner,  we  are  trying  to  select  a  cover 
design  for  this  little  book.  Mr.  Udell  has  suggested 
several,  but  we  cannot  come  to  any  decision  as  to 
just  the  proper  one.  Which  would  you  choose  ?" 

Dick's  embarrassment  left  him  at  once  when  a 
matter  of  work  was  to  be  considered.  "This  would 
be  my  choice,"  he  said,  selecting  a  design. 

"I  like  that  too,"  said  the  young  lady;  "but  you 
see  it  is  not  just  what  I  want ;"  and  she  looked  not  a 
little  worried,  for  above  all  things,  Miss  Goodrich 
liked  things  just  as  she  liked  them ;  and  besides,  this 
was  such  an  important  matter. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Dick.  "If  you'll  let  me, 
and  Mr.  Udell  does  not  object,  I'll  set  up  a  cover  for 
you  tonight  after  supper." 

"O,  indeed,  you  must  not  think  of  it,"  said  Amy. 

"But  I  would  enjoy  it,"  he  answered. 

"You  need  to  rest  after  your  day's  work,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "and  besides,  it  would  be  so  much  trouble  for 

81 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

you  to  come  way  down  here  in  the  night.  No,  you 
need  not  mind ;  this  will  do  very  well." 

"But  we  often  work  after  hours,  and  I — I —  do  not 
live  far  from  here,"  said  Dick. 

"What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Udell  ?" 

"I  am  sure,  Miss  Goodrich,  that  Mr.  Falkner  would 
enjoy  the  work,  for  we  printers  have  a  good  bit  of 
pride  in  that  kind  of  thing  you  know,  and,  as  he 
says,  we  often  work  after  supper.  I  think  you  might 
let  him  do  it,  without  too  great  a  feeling  of  obliga- 
tion." 

After  some  further  talk,  the  matter  was  finally  set- 
tled as  he  had  suggested,  and  Dick  went  back  to  his 
work ;  as  he  picked  up  his  overturned  stool,  he  heard 
the  door  close  and  then  Udell  stood  beside  him,  with 
a  broad  grin  on  his  face. 

"Well,  I'll  be  shot,"  ejaculated  the  printer,  "I've 
seen  fellows  take  a  tumble  before,  but  hang  me  if  I 
ever  saw  a  man  so  completely  kerflummuxed.  Great 
shade  of  the  immortal  Benjamin  F — !  But  you  were 
a  sight — must  be  you're  not  used  to  the  ladies. 
Seemed  all  right  though  when  you  got  your  legs  under 
you  and  your  mouth  agoing.  What  in  time  ailed  you 
anyway  ?" 

"Who  is  she?"  asked  Dick,  ignoring  the  other's 
laughter,  and  dodging  his  question. 

"Who  is  she  ?  Why  I  introduced  you  to  her,  man  ; 
her  name  is  Amy  Goodrich.  Her  daddy  is  that  old  duf- 

82 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

fer  who  keeps  the  hardware  store,  and  is  so  eminently 
respectable  that  you  can't  get  near  him  unless  you 
have  a  pedigree  and  a  bank  account.  Amy  is  the 
only  daughter,  but  she  has  a  brother  though  who  takes 
after  the  old  man.  The  girl  takes  after  herself  I 
reckon."  Dick  made  no  reply  and  Udell  continued ; 
"The  whole  family  are  members  of  the  swellest 
church  in  the  city,  but  the  girl  is  the  only  one  who 
works  at  it  much.  She  teaches  in  the  Mission  Sunday 
School ;  leads  in  the  Young  People's  Society  and  all 
that.  I  don't  imagine  the  old  folks  like  it  though; 
too  common  you  know."  And  he  went  off  to  look 
after  the  boy  again,  who  was  slowly  but  painfully 
running  off  the  bill-heads  that  Dick  had  fixed  on  the 
press. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him,  George  ?"  asked  that 
individual,  leaning  wearily  against  the  machine; 
"Did  he  faint  agin,  or  was  he  havin'  a  fit  ?" 

"You  shut  up  and  get  that  job  off  sometime  this 
week,"  answered  Udell,  as  he  jerked  the  lever  of  the 
electric  motor  four  notches  to  the  right. 

Just  before  the  whistles  blew  for  dinner,'  he  again 
went  back  to  Dick  and  stood  looking  over  his  shoul- 
der at  a  bad  bit  of  copy  the  latter  was  trying  to  de- 
cipher. "Well,  what  do  you  think  about  it  ?"  he 
asked. 

"She's  divine,"  answered  Dick  absently,  as  he  care- 
fully placed  a  capital  A  upside  down. 

83 


THAT  PKINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

George  threw  back  his  head  and  roared;  "Well, 
you've  got  it  sure,"  he  said,  when  he  could  speak. 

"Got  what  ?"  asked  Dick  in  wonder. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  the  other,  going  off  with 
another  shout.  "But  look  here ;"  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment; very  serious  this  time;  "Let  me  give  you  a 
piece  of  good  advice,  rny  friend;  don't  you  go  to 
thinking  about  that  girl  too  much." 

"What  girl?  Whose  thinking  about  her?  You 
need  have  no  fears  on  that  score,"  said  Dick,  a  little 
sharply. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  get  mad  about  it,  a  fellow  can't 
help  but  think  a  chap  is  hit  when  he  falls  down,  can 
he?"  And  with  another  laugh,  George  removed  his 
apron  and  left  for  dinner. 

"Yes,  it  did  look  bad ;"  said  Dick  to  himself,  as  he 
dried  his  hands  on  the  office  towel ;  "but  I  never  saw 
such  eyes;  and  she's  as  good  as  she  looks  too;  but 
Adam  Goodrich's  daughter,  Whew  —  And  he 

whistled  softly  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  his  first 
meeting  with  the  wealthy  hardware  merchant. 

That  evening  while  Miss  Goodrich  was  entertain- 
ing a  few  of  her  friends  at  her  beautiful  home  on  the 
avenue,  and  while  Udell,  with  Clara  Wilson,  was 
calling  on  old  Mother  Gray,  whose  husband  had  been 
injured  in  the  mines,  Dick  worked  alone  in  the  print- 
ing office.  The  little  book,  as  Amy  called  it,  was  a 
pamphlet  issued  by  the  literary  club  of  which  she 

84 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

was  the  secretary,  and  never  since  the  time  when  he 
set  his  first  line  of  type,  had  Dick  been  so  bothered 
over  a  bit  of  printing.  The  sweet  brown  eyes  and 
smiling  lips  of  the  young  woman  were  constantly  com- 
ing between  him  and  his  work,  and  he  paused  often  to 
carry  on  an  imaginary  conversation  with  her.  Some- 
times he  told  her  funny  incidents  from  his  adventur- 
ous past  and  heard  her  laugh  in  keen  appreciation. 
Then  they  talked  of  more  earnest  things  and  her  face 
grew  grave  and  thoughtful.  Again  he  told  her  all 
his  plans  and  ambitions,  and  saw  her  eyes  light  with 
sympathy  as  she  gladly  promised  her  helpful  friend- 
ship. Then,  inspired  by  her  interest,  he  grew  bolder, 
and  forgetting  the  task  before  him  altogether,  fought 
life's  battles  in  the  light  of  her  smiles,  conquering 
every  difficulty,  and  winning  for  himself  a  place  and 
name  among  men.  And  then,  as  he  laid  his  trophies 
at  her  feet,  her  father,  the  wealthy  merchant,  ap- 
peared, and  Dick  walked  the  floor  in  a  blind  rage. 

But  he  managed  to  finish  his  work  at  last,  and 
about  three  o'clock,  tumbled  on  to  his  cot  in  the  stock 
room,  where  he  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  trying  to 
rescue  Amy  from  her  father,  who  assumed  the  shape 
of  a  hardware  dragon,  with  gold  eyes,  and  had  im- 
prisoned the  young  lady  in  a  log  cabin  near  the  river, 
beneath  a  hill  upon  which  grew  a  pine  tree  tipped 
with  fire,  while  a  lean  hound  sat  at  the  water's  edge 
and  howled. 

85 


CHAPTER  VI 


INGLE  BOBBIE  WICKS  pulled  down  the 

top  of  his  desk  and  heard  the  lock  click  with 
a  long  sigh  of  satisfaction,  for  a  glance  at 
his  large,  old-fashioned  hunting-case  watch  told  him 
that  it  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  It  was  a  dismal, 
dreary,  rainy  night ;  just  the  sort  of  a  night  to  make 
a  man  thank  God  that  he  had  a  home ;  and  those  who 
had  homes  to  go  to  were  already  there,  except  a  few 
business  men,  who  like  Mr.  Wicks,  were  obliged  to  be 
out  on  work  of  especial  importance. 

Locking  the  rear  door  of  the  office  and  getting 
hastily  into  his  rain  coat,  the  old  gentleman  took  his 
hat  and  umbrella  from  the  rack  and  stepped  out  into 
the  storm.  As  he  was  trudging  along  through  the 
wet,  his  mind  still  on  business,  a  gleam  of  light  from 
the  window  of  Udell's  printing  office  caught  his  eye. 
"Hello !"  he  said  to  himself ;  "George  is  working  late 
tonight ;  guess  I'll  run  in  and  see  if  he's  got  that  last 
batch  of  bill-heads  fixed  yet;  we'll  need  'em  tomor- 
row morning.  Howdy,  George,"  he  said,  a  few  sec- 
onds later ;  and  then  stopped,  for  it  was  not  Udell,  but 

89 


THAT  PKINTEK  OP  UDELL'S 

Dick,  who  was  bending  over  the  stone ;  and  in  place 
of  working  with  the  type,  he  was  playing  a  game  of 
solitaire,  while  he  pulled  away  at  an  old  corn-cob 
pipe. 

"Good  evening,"  said  the  young  man,  pausing  in 
his  amusement,  "What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"I  see  ye  got  a  job,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie. 

"Yes,"  Dick  replied,  as  he  shuffled  the  cards ;  "and 
a  very  good  one  too.' 

"Huh !  looks  like  ye  weren't  overworked  just  now." 

"Oh,  this  is  out  of  hours;  we  quit  at  six,  you 
know." 

"Strikes  me  ye  might  find  somethin'  better  to  do 
than  foolin'  with  them  dirty  pasteboards,  if  'tis  out 
of  hours ;"  said  Mr.  Wicks,  pointedly. 

"They  are  rather  soiled,"  remarked  Dick,  critically 
examining  the  queen  of  hearts;  and  then  he  con- 
tinued, in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  "you  see  I  found 
them  back  of  the  coal  box;  some  fellow  had  thrown 
them  away,  I  guess.  Lucky  for  me  that  he  did." 

"Lucky  for  you  ?  Is  that  the  best  you  can  do  with 
your  time  ?" 

"Perhaps  you  would  suggest  some  more  elevating 
amusement,"  smiled  Dick. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  read  somethin'  ?" 

The  young  man  waved  his  pipe  toward  a  lot  of 
month-old  papers  and  printers  journals — "My  dear 


90 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

sir,  I  have  gone  through  that  pile  three  times  and  have 
exhausted  every  almanac  in  this  establishment." 

"\7isit  some  of  your  friends." 

"I^ot  one  in  the  city  except  Udell,"  answered  the 
fother,  "and  if  I  had — "  he  glanced  down  at  his  worn 
clothing. 

Mr.  Wicks  tried  again ;    "Well,  go  somewhere." 

"Where?"  asked  Dick.  "There  is  only  one  place 
open  to  me — the  saloon — I  haven't  money  enough 
for  that,  and  if  I  had,  I  wouldn't  spend  it  there  now. 
I  might  go  to  some  respectable  gambling  den,  I  sup- 
pose, but  there's  the  money  question  again,  and  my 
foolish  pride,  so  I  play  solitaire.  I  know  I  am  in 
good  company  at  least,  if  the  sport  isn't  quite  so 
exciting." 

Uncle  Bobbie  was  silent.  The  rain  swished  against 
the  windows  and  roared  on  the  tin  roof  of  the  build- 
ing ;  the  last  car  of  the  evening,  with  one  lone  passen- 
ger, scurried  along  Broadway,  its  lights  brightly  re- 
flected on  the  wet  pavement;  a  cab  rumbled  toward 
the  hotel,  the  sound  of  the  horses'  feet  dull  and  muf- 
fled in  the  mist ;  and  a  solitary  policeman,  wrapped  in 
his  rubber  coat,  made  his  way  along  the  almost  de- 
serted street.  As  Uncle  Bobbie  stood  listening  to  the 
lonely  sounds  and  looking  at  the  young  man,  with  his 
corn-cob  pipe  and  pack  of  dirty  cards,  he  thought  of 
his  own  cheery  fireside  and  of  his  waiting  wife.  "To- 
be-sure,"  he  said  at  last,  carefully  placing  his  um- 

91 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

brella  in  a  corner  near  the  door,  and  as  carefully  re- 
moving his  coat  and  hat ;  "To-be-sure,  I  quit  smokin' 
sometime  ago — 'bout  a  month,  I  reckon — used  to 
smoke  pretty  nigh  all  the  time,  but  wife  she  wanted 
me  to  quit — I  don't  know  as  there  is  any  use  in  it." 
A  long  pause  followed,  as  he  drew  a  chair  to  the  stove 
and  seated  himself.  "To-be-sure,  I  don't  know  as 
there's  any  great  harm  in  it  either."  There  was  an- 
other pause,  while  Dick  also  placed  his  chair  near  the 
stove — "and  I  git  so  plaguey  fat  every  time  I  quit." 

Dick  tilted  back  and  lazily  blew  a  soft  cloud  into 
the  air.  Uncle  Bobbie  arose  and  placed  the  coal 
bucket  between  them.  "Told  mother  last  night  I  was 
gettin'  too  fat  again — but  it  made  me  sick  last  time 
I  tried  it — I  wonder  if  it  would  make  me  sick  now." 
— A  longer  pause  than  usual  followed — then :  "It's 
really  dangerous  for  me  to  get  so  fat,  and  smokin'  's 
the  only  thing  that  keeps  it  down.  D'ye  reckon  it 
would  make  me  sick  again  ?"  He  drew  a  cigar  from 
his  pocket,  almost  as  big  as  a  cannon  fire-cracker  and 
fully  as  dangerous.  "I  got  this  t'day.  Looks  like  a 
pretty  good  one.  It  didn't  use  to  make  me  sick  'fore 
I  quit  the  last  time."  Dick  handed  him  a  match  and 
two  minutes  later  the  big  cigar  was  burning  as  freely 
as  its  nature  would  permit. 

"What  an  awful  wasteful  habit  it  is  to-be-sure,  ain't 
it  ?"  went  on  the  old  gentleman  between  vigorous 
puffs.  "Just  think,  there's  school  books,  and  Bibles 

92 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

and  baby  clothes  and  medicine  for  the  sick,  and  food 
for  the  hungry,  and  houses  and  stores,  and  farms,  and 
cattle,  all  a'  goin'  up  in  that  smoke ;"  he  pointed  with 
his  cigar  to  the  blue  cloud  that  hung  between  them. 
"If  I  had  half  the  money  church  members  burn,  I 
could  take  care  of  every  old  worn-out  preacher  in 
the  world,  and  have  a  good  bit  left  over  for  the  poor 
children.  I  wisht  I  was  as  young  as  you  be;  I'd 
quit  it  f er  good ;  but  it  sure  does  take  a  hold  on  an  old 
feller  like  me." 

Dick's  face  grew  thoughtful.  "I  never  looked  at 
it  in  that  way  before,"  he  said,  as  he  took  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth ;  "It's  a  big  comfort  to  a  chap  who  is 
all  alone,  though  I  suppose  it  does  get  a  strong  hold 
on  a  man  who  has  used  it  most  of  his  life ;  and  a  fel- 
low could  do  a  lot  of  good  with  the  money  it  costs 
him."  He  arose  to  his  feet  and  went  to  the  window, 
where  he  stood  for  a  moment  looking  out  into  the  rain. 
Presently  he  came  back  to  his  chair  again;  "Look 
out,"  cried  Uncle  Bobbie,  as  Dick  took  his  seat, 
"You've  dropped  your  pipe  into  the  coal  bucket." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right;  its  worn-out  anyway,  and  I 
have  another."  But  he  smoked  no  more  that  even- 
ing. 

"Where  are  you  from  ?"  asked  Wicks  abruptly. 

"Everywhere,"  answered  Dick,  shortly,  for  he  did 
not  relish  the  thought  of  being  questioned  about  his 
past. 

93 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Where  you  goiri'  ?"  came  next  from  his  compan- 
ion. 

"Nowhere,"  just  as  short. 

"Folks  livin'  F 

"No." 

"How  long  been  dead  ?" 

"Since  I  was  a  little  fellow." 

"Ain't  you  got  no  relations  ?" 

"Don't  want  any  if  they're  like  an  aunt  of  mine." 

Uncle  Bobbie  nodded  in  sympathy. 

"How'd  you  happen  to  strike  this  place  ?" 

Dick  told  him  in  three  words,  "Lookin'  for  work." 

"Udell's  a  mighty  fine  fellow." 

"You're  right  he  is." 

"Not  much  of  a  Christian  though."  And  the  old 
man  watched  Dick  keenly  through  the  cloud  of 
smoke. 

"No,  good  thing  for  me  he  isn't,"  the  young  man 
answered  bitterly,  his  face  and  voice  betraying  his 
feelings. 

"I  know ;  yes,  I  know,"  nodded  Uncle  Bobbie.  "To- 
be-sure,  I  used  to  look  at  things  just  like  you,  and 
then  I  got  more  sense  and  learned  a  heap  better,  and 
I  tell  you  right  now  that  you'll  do  the  same  way.  I 
know  there  is  church  members  that  are  meaner'n  a 
mule  with  shoulder  galls.  They  won't  pull  nothin' 
and  would  kick  a  man's  head  off  quicker'n  greased 
lightnin'.  But  they  ain't  goin'  to  Heaven,  be  they  ? 

94 


Not  much  they  ain't ;  no  more'n  my  dog  's  goin'  to  the 
Legislature.  And  there's  them  outside  the  church 
that's  a  whole  lot  worse.  Taint  Christianity  that 
makes  folks  mean,  but  they're  mean  in  spite  of  it, 
though  you  can't  get  such  fellers  as  you  to  see  it  that 
way,  no  more'n  you  can  foller  a  mosquito  through  a 
mile  o'  fog.  To-be-sure,  I  aint  blamin'  you  much 
though." 

Dick's  face  changed.  This  was  not  just  what  he 
expected.  "I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  that 
the  old  gentleman  expected  him  to  reply.  "Ever  since 
I  can  remember,  I've  been  kicked  and  cuffed  and 
cursed  by  saint  and  sinner  alike,  until  I  can't  see 
much  difference  between  the  church  members  and 
those  whom  they  say  are  in  the  world." 

"Except  that  the  members  of  the  church  do  the 
kickin'  and  cuffin'  and  let  the  sinners  do  the  cussin'," 
broke  in  Uncle  Bobbie.  "To-be-sure,  ye  can't  tell 
me  nothin'  about  that  either." 

"I'm  not  saying  anything  about  the  teaching  of 
Christ,"  continued  Dick;  "that's  all  right  so  far  as 
it  goes,  but  it  don't  seem  to  go  very  far.  I  have 
not  made  much  of  a  success  of  life,  but  I've  worked 
mighty  hard  to  earn  a  living  and  learn  my  trade,  and 
I  don't  know  but  that  I  am  willing  to  take  my  chances 
with  some  of  the  church  members  I  have  seen." 

"To-be-sure,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie;  "and  I  reckon 
your  chance  is  just  as  good  as  their'n.  But  it  strikes 

95 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

me  that  I  want  to  stand  a  little  better  show  than  them 
fellers.  How  about  the  folks  that  be  Christians  ? 
You  know  there  is  them  that  do  follow  the  Master's 
teachin' ;  what  about  their  chances,  heh  ?" 

"Yon  see  it's  just  this  way,"  continued  Uncle  Bob- 
bie, settling  himself  more  comfortably  in  his  chair; 
"I  had  a  whole  lot  of  brothers  and  sisters  at  Home, 
back  in  Ohio ;  an'  they  was  all  members  of  the  church 
but  me.  To-be-sure,  I  went  to  Sunday  School  and 
meetin'  with  the  rest-I  jing !  I  had  to  !-Huh  !-My  old 
dad  would  just  naturally  a  took  th'  hide  off  me  if  I 
hadn't.  Yes  sir-e,  you  bet  I  went  to  church.  But  all 
the  same  I  didn't  want  to.  An'  they  sorter  foundered 
me  on  religi'n,  I  reckon,  Jim  and  Bill  and  Tom  and 
Dave.  They'd  all  take  their  girls  and  go  home  with 
them  after  meetin',  an'  I'd  have  to  put  out  the  team 
and  feed  the  stock  all  alone ;  an'  Sunday  evenin'  every 
one  of  ?eni  would  be  off  to  singin'  and  I'd  have  to  milk 
and  feed  again.  An'  then  after  meetin'  of  course 
the  boys  had  to  take  their  girls  home,  and  other  fel- 
lows would  come  home  with  our  girls,  and  I'd  have 
to  put  up  the  team  and  take  care  of  the  boys'  horses 
that  come  sparkin'.  An'  somehow  I  didn't  take  to 
Christianity.  To-be-sure,  'twas  a  good  thing  for  the 
stock  I  didn't." 

He  carefully  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  and 
continued:  "To-be-sure,  I  know  now  that  wasn't  no 
excuse,  but  it  looked  that  way  then.  After  a  while 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

the  boys  married  off  and  I  staid  to  home  and  took  care 
of  the  old  folks;  and  purty  soon  the  girls  they  got 
married  too ;  and  then  pa  and  ma  got  too  old  to  go  out, 
and  I  couldn't  leave  'em  much,  and  so  I  didn't  get  to 
meetin'  very  often.  Things  went  on  that  way  a  spell 
'til  Bill  got  to  thinkin'  he'd  better  come  and  live  on 
the  home  farm  and  look  after  things,  as  I  didn't  have 
no  woman;  to-be-sure,  it  did  need  a  good  bit  of 
tendin'.  Six  hundred  acres  all  in  fine  shape  and  well 
stocked — so  I  told  pa  that  I'd  come  west  an  let  'em 
run  things  at  home.  I  got  a  job  punchin'  steers  out 
here  in  James  County,  and  they're  all  back  there  yet. 
The  old  folks  died  a  little  bit  after  I  came  west,  and 
Bill-well-Bill,  he  keeps  the  home  place  'cause  he  took 
care  of  'em  ye  know — well,  I  homesteaded  a  hundred 
and  sixty,  and  after  a  spell,  the  Santa  Fe  road  come 
through  and  I  got  to  buyin'  grain  and  hogs,  and 
tradin'  in  castor-oil  beans  and  managed  to  get  hold  of 
some  land  here  when  the  town  was  small.  To-be-sure, 
I  aint  rich  ye^;  though  I've  got  enough  to  keep  me  I 
reckon.  I  handle  a  little  real  estate,  get  some  rent 
from  my  buildin's,  and  loan  a  little  money  now  and 
then.  But  you  bet  I've  worked  for  every  cent  I've  got, 
and  I  didn't  fool  none  of  it  away  either,  'cept  what 
went  up  in  smoke." 

The  old  gentleman's  voice  sank  lower  and  lower 
as  he  recalled  the  years  that  had  flown.  And  as  Dick 
looked  at  the  kindly  face,  seamed  and  furrowed  by 

97 


THAT  PKIOTER  OF  UDELL'S 

the  cares  of  life,  and  the  hair  just  whitened  by  the 
frost  of  time,  now  half  hidden  in  a  halo  of  smoke,  he 
felt  his  heart  warm  with  sympathy,  which  he  knew 
was  returned  full  measure  by  the  boy  who  had  left 
his  Ohio  home  to  battle  with  life  alone  in  that  strange 
western  country. 

"But  what  I  wanted  to  tell  ye,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie, 
coming  suddenly  back  to  the  present  and  speaking  in 
his  usual  abrupt  manner,  "you'll  find  out,  same  as  I 
have,  that  it  don't  much  matter  how  the  other  feller 
dabbles  in  the  dirt,  you've  got  to  keep  your  hands 
clean  anyhow.  An'  taint  the  question  whether  the 
other  feller's  mean  or  not,  but  am  I  livin'  square  ?  I 
know  that  Christ  is  the  Saviour  of  men,  but  he  can't 
save  'em  'less  they  want  him  to,  no  more'n  I  can 
catch  a  jack-rabbit  a-foot.  Christianity  's  all  right, 
but  it  aint  a  goin'  to  do  no  good  'less  people  live  it,  and 
there's  a  heap  more  living  it  too  than  we  think.  What 
such  fellers  as  you  want  to  do  is  to  listen  to  what 
Christ  says  and  not  look  at  what  some  little  two  by 
four  church  member  does.  They  aint  worth  that;" 
and  he  tossed  his  cigar  stub  to  keep  company  with 
Dick's  pipe. 

Dick  said  nothing,  because  he  could  find  no  words 
to  express  himself,  and  the  older  man,  seeing  how  it 
was,  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Well,  I  must  be  goin'.  Wife'll  think  I've  clean 
gone  back  on  her.  Come  up  to  the  house  and  see  me 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

sometime.  I  reckon  you  know  you're  welcome  after 
what  I've  been  sayin'."  And  then  as  the  young  man 
gave  him  a  lift  with  his  coat ;  "keep  a  stiff  upper  lip ; 
you'll  strike  pay  •  dirt  after  a  while ;  just  keep  a 
hangin'  on,  like  a  puppy  to  a  root.  Good-night,"  and 
Dick  was  alone  again. 

"Wife,"  said  Mr.  Wicks  next  morning,  just  before 
getting  up  to  build  the  fire;  "wife,  I  made  a  discovery 
last  night." 

"You  were  out  late  enough  to  discover  something," 
returned  Mrs.  Wicks,  with  a  laugh ;  "what  is  it  ?" 

And  Uncle  Bobbie  replied  slowly  as  he  arose  and 
began  dressing,  "There's  some  fellers  go  to  the  devil 
just  because  they  aint  got  nowheres  else  to  go." 

Later,  the  old  gentleman  sat  at  his  desk  in  his  office, 
tilted  back  in  his  revolving  chair,  his  feet  among  the 
papers  where  his  hands  should  have  been.  No  one 
came  in  to  disturb  his  revery  for  it  was  still  early  in 
the  morning,  and  the  only  sound  was  the  clicking  of 
a  typewriter  in  the  next  room.  Suddenly  the  feet  came 
down  to  their  proper  place  with  a  bang,  and  leaning 
forward,  he  wrote  rapidly  for  a  few  moments,  then 
called,  "Charlie."  The  noise  of  the  typewriter  stopped 
and  a  young  man  entered  the  room.  "Charlie,  I've 
been  gettin'  out  a  little  advertisin'  stuff  here,  and  I 
wish  you'd  take  it  over  to  George  Udell's  an'  wait 
until  they  fix  it  up,  so  you  can  bring  me  back  the 
proof.  You  can  let  them  letters  rest  a  spell." 

99 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

The  young  man  took  his  hat  and  umbrella,  for  it 
was  still  raining,  and  started  on  his  errand,  but  his 
employer  stopped  him.  "Wait  a  bit,  Charlie.  Do  you 
remember  that  young  feller  what  called  here  for  a  job 
week  before  last,  the  time  I  sold  that  Johnson  prop- 
erty, you  know?" 

"Said  he  was  a  printer  from  Kansas  City  ?"  asked 
Charlie. 

The  other  nodded. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  remember  him." 

"Well,  he's  got  a  job  with  Udell.  I  was  there  last 
night  and  had  a  talk  with  him.  He  aint  got  no  friends 
and  stays  in  the  office  nights  alone.  I  just  thought  I'd 
tell  you.  He's  shy  of  Christians  though,  and  proud 
as  an  old  turkey  gobbler  in  the  spring.  But  he  needs 
somebody  to  talk  to  more'n  anything  else,  that's  all." 
And  the  old  man  turned  back  to  his  papers. 

This  was  the  beginning.  The  end  is  easily  fore- 
seen ;  for,  given  a  young  man  of  Dick's  temperament, 
longing  for  companionship,  and  another  young  man 
of  Charlie's  make-up,  with  a  legitimate  business  to 
bring  the  two  together,  and  only  a  friendship  of  the 
David  and  Jonathan  order  could  result. 

Dick  was  distant  at  first,  but  Charlie  was  too  wise 
to  force  himself  upon  him,  and  as  Mr.  Wicks  found 
many  excuses  for  sending  his  young  assistant  to  the 
printing  office,  the  two  slowly  grew  better  acquainted. 


100 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Then  came  a  time  when  Charlie  dared  to  ask  Dick 
what  he  did  evenings,  and  Dick  answered  in  his  proud 
way,  "Smoke  and  play  solitaire.  Couldn't  Charlie 
come  up  and  chat  with  him  sometimes  ?  He  couldn't 
play  cards  and  didn't  care  to  smoke,  but  he  did  like  to 
talk.  Yes,  Charlie  could  if  he  chose,  but  he  would 
find  it  a  dull  place  to  spend  an  evening." 

Dick  was  pulling  away  at  his  corn-cob  pipe  the  first 
time  Charlie  came,  but  moved  to  hide  it  from  sight 
as  the  latter  entered  the  room.  Then  thinking  better 
of  it,  with  a  proud  lifting  of  his  chin,  he  stuck  the 
pipe  in  his  mouth  again.  However,  Charlie  noticed 
that  the  smoke  soon  ceased  to  come  from  his  com- 
panion's lips,  and  guessed  that  the  tobacco  was  not 
burning  well.  This  was  the  last  time  that  he  ever  saw 
Dick  smoking.  Indeed,  it  was  the  last  time  that  Dick 
ever  used  tobacco  in  any  form.  "For,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "I  can't  afford  to  do  anything  that  robs  babies 
and  mothers,  and  makes  me  disagreeable  to  my 
friends." 

The  ice  once  broken,  Charlie's  calls  grew  more  and 
more  frequent,  until  the  two  met  and  talked  like  old 
friends,  and  often  left  the  office  to  walk  about  the  city, 
arm  in  arm,  after  dark. 

"Mr.  Udell,"  said  Dick,  one  Saturday  night,  as  the 
latter  handed  him  his  wages  for  the  week,  "Where's 
the  best  place  to  go  for  clothing  ?" 


101 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

And  George,  with  a  pleased  look  on  his  face,  which 
Dick  could  not  help  but  notice,  directed  him  to  a 
clothing  store  on  the  corner  of  Fourth  and  Broad- 
way. 


102 


CHAPTER  VIL 


HE  quiet  of  a  Sunday  morning  in  early  JJLay 
was  over  the  city.  Stores  and  business 
houses  were  closed,  save  here  and  there  a 
meat  market,  which  opened  for  careless  citizens  who 
had  neglected  to  lay  in  their  supply  the  night  before. 
A  group  of  negro  loafers  sat  on  the  stone  steps  of  the 
National  Bank,  and  lounged  about  the  entrance  of 
the  Opera  House.  A  little  farther  up  the  street  a  com- 
pany of  idle  whites  sat  in  front  of  a  restaurant ;  and 
farther  on,  in  the  doorway  of  a  saloon,  a  drunkard 
was  sleeping  in  the  sun.  Old  Dr.  Watkins,  in  his 
buggy,  came  clattering  down  the  street  and  stopped 
in  front  of  the  Boyd  City  Drug  Store,  and  a  man  with 
his  arm  in  a  sling  followed  him  into  the  building. 
Then  the  church  bells  rang  out  their  cheery  invita- 
tion, and  the  children,  neat  and  clean  in  their  Sunday 
clothes,  trooped  along  the  street  to  the  Sunday 
Schools.  An  hour  later  the  voices  of  the  bells  again 
floated  over  the  silent  city,  and  men  and  women 
were  seen  making  their  way  to  the  various  places  of 
worship. 

105 


In  the  throng  which  passed  through  the  door  of 
the  Jerusalem  Church  was  a  gentleman  dressed  in 
gray.  It  was  not  difficult  to  guess  from  his  man- 
ner, as  he  stood  in  the  vestibule  as  though  waiting  for 
someone,  that  he  was  a  stranger  in  the  place.  His  fig- 
ure was  tall,  nearly  if  not  quite  six  feet,  well  formed, 
but  lithe  rather  than  heavy,  giving  one  the  impression 
not  only  of  strength,  but  of  grace  as  well;  the  well- 
set  head  and  clear-cut  features;  the  dark  hair  and 
brows,  overshadowing,  deep-set,  keen  gray  eyes ;  the 
mouth  and  chin,  clean-shaven  and  finely  turned ;  all 
combined  to  carry  still  farther  the  impression  of 
power.  Even  the  most  careless  observer  would  know 
that  he  would  be  both  swift  and  sure  in  action,  while 
a  closer  student  would  say,  "Here  is  one  who  rules 
himself,  as  he  leads  others ;  who  is  strong  in  spirit  as 
well  as  body ;  who  is  as  kind  as  he  is  powerful ;  as  lov- 
ing as  he  is  ambitious ;  this  is  indeed  a  man  whom  one 
would  love  as  a  friend  and  be  forced  to  respect  as  an 
enemy." 

Charlie  Bowen,  one  of  the  ushers,  came  hurrying 
up  and  caught  the  stranger  by  the  hand.  "Good,"  he 
whispered,  looking  him  over  admiringly;  "Glad  to 
see  you,  old  man.  Whew,  but  you  do  look  swell.  Folks 
will  think  you're  a  Congressman  sure,  in  that  outfit." 

"Do  I  take  my  hat  off  when  I  go  in  ?"  whispered 
Dick,  who  already  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  "Or  do  I 
wait  till  after  prayers  ?" 

106 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"You  come  along  and  do  as  the  Romans  do,  of 
course,"  replied  Charlie. 

"Didn't  know  I  was  getting  into  a  Catholio 
church,"  retorted  the  other.  "Say,  don't  rush  me  way 
up  in  front,  will  you  ?" 

"Xever  you  mind  that.  Come  on."  And  before 
Dick  could  say  more  the  usher  was  half  way  up  the 
aisle. 

"Who  is  that  stranger  Charlie  Bowen  is  seating  ?" 
said  old  Mrs.  Gadsby  in  a  low  voice,  to  her  neighbor. 
The  neighbor  shook  her  head.  "Isn't  he  handsome  ?" 
whispered  a  young  school  teacher  to  her  chum.  "Some 
distinguished  strangers  here  to-day,"  thought  the  pas- 
tor as  he  glanced  over  his  congregation.  And  Adam 
Goodrich  turned  his  head  just  in  time  to  look  into  the 
face  of  the  tramp  printer,  who  was  being  seated  in  the 
pew  behind  him.  Miss  Goodrich  was  with  her  father 
and  Dick  heard  nothing  of  the  opening  part  of  the 
service,  only  coming  to  himself  when  Cameron  was 
well  started  in  his  discourse.  The  preacher's  theme 
was,  "The  Sermon  on  the  Mount,"  and  the  first  words 
that  caught  the  young  man's  ear  were,  "Blessed  are 
the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven."  He  glanced  around  at  the  congregation. 
Mrs.  Gadsby  was  inspecting  the  diamonds  in  the  ears 
of  the  lady  by  her  side,  who  was  resting  her  powdered 
and  painted  face  on  the  back  of  the  pew  in  front,  as 
though  in  devotion. 

107 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be 
comforted,"  read  the  minister.  Dick  thought  of  the 
widows  and  orphans  in  the  city,  and  of  the  luxurious 
homes  of  the  people  he  saw  about  him.  "Blessed  are 
the  meek,  for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth."  Dick 
looked  straight  at  Adam  Goodrich,  the  very  back  of 
whose  head  showed  haughty  arrogance  and  pride. 
"Blessed  are  they  that  do  hunger  and  thirst  after 
righteousness,  for  they  shall  be  filled."  Dick  lifted 
up  his  eyes  and  looked  at  four  members  of  the  choir 
who  were  whispering  and  giggling  behind  their  books, 
and  noted  the  beautiful  frescoed  ceiling,  the  costly 
stained-glass  windows,  the  soft  carpets  and  carved  fur- 
niture on  the  rostrum,  and  the  comfortable,  well- 
cushioned  pews.  "Is  all  this  righteousness  ?"  he  asked 
himself.  And  he  thought  of  the  boys  and  girls  on  the 
street,  of  the  hungry,  shivering,  starving,  sin-stained 
creatures  he  had  seen  and  known,  who  would  not  dare 
present  themselves  at  the  outer  door  of  this  temple, 
consecrated  to  the  service  of  Him  who  said,  "Come 
unto  me  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  And  then,  lest 
men  might  be  mistaken,  added,  "Whosoever  will  may 


(come. 
te 


Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see 
God."  Dick's  eyes  rested  on  the  girl  in  the  next  seat. 
Yes,  Amy  was  pure  in  heart.  There  was  no  shadow 
of  evil  on  that  beautiful  brow.  Innocence,  purity  and 
truth  were  written  in  every  line  of  the  girlish  feat- 

108 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

ures,  and  Dick's  heart  ached  as  he  thought  of  his  own 
life  and  the  awful  barrier  between  them ;  not  the  bar- 
rier of  social  position  or  wealth ;  that,  he  knew,  could 
be  overcome ;  but  the  barrier  he  had  builded  himself, 
in  the  reckless,  wasted  years.  And  then  and  there  the 
strong  young  man  fought  a  battle  in  the  secret  cham- 
ber of  his  own  soul ;  fought  a  battle  and  won ;  putting 
from  himself  forever,  as  he  believed,  the  dreams  he 
had  dared  to  dream  in  the  lonely  evening  hours  in  the 
printing  office. 

His  struggle  with  himself  seemed  to  make  Dick  feel 
more  keenly  the  awful  mockery  of  the  worshippers; 
and  to  him,  who  all  his  life  had  been  used  to  looking 
at  things  as  they  really  were,  without  the  glasses  of 
conventionalism  or  early  training,  the  very  atmos- 
phere of  the  place  was  stifling. 

When  the  services  were  over,  he  rushed  from  the 
building  without  even  returning  Charlie's  salutation, 
only  drawing  a  long  breath  when  he  was  safe  on  the 
street  again ;  and  rejoiced  in  his  heart  when  at  dinner, 
the  restaurant  keeper  cursed  his  wife  in  the  kitchen, 
and  a  drunken  boarder  fell  from  his  chair.  "This, 
at  least,  is  real,"  he  said  to  himself;  "but  what  a 
world  this  would  be  if  only  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
were  lived,  not  simply  talked  about." 

The  Monday  night  following  Dick's  visit  to  the 
church,  Charlie  Bowen  had  gone  back  to  the  office 
after  supper,  as  he  often  did  when  business  was  brisk, 

109 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

forgetting  that  it  was  the  first  Monday  in  the  month, 
and  thai;  the  official  board  of  the  Jerusalem  Church 
would  hold  their  regular  business  meeting  there. 

The  matter  was  only  brought  to  his  mind  when 
Elder  Wicks,  with  Rev.  Cameron,  entered,  followed 
soon  after  by  two  or  three  others.  Charlie's  first  im- 
ipulse  was  to  leave  the  office,  but  it  was  necessary  that 
his  work  be  done.  His  employer  knew  that  he  was 
there  and  could  easily  give  him  a  hint  if  it  would  be 
better  for  him  to  retire.  Shrewd  old  Uncle  Bobbie, 
however,  had  his  own  plans  in  regard  to  this  partic- 
ular meeting,  and  it  was  not  a  part  of  them  to  have 
his  young  assistant  leave  the  office.  So  nothing  was 
said,  and  the  meeting  opened  in  the  regulation  way, 
with  a  prayer  by  Elder  Gardner,  the  Chairman  of  the 
Board.  The  pastor  and  the  different  standing  com- 
mittees, with  the  treasurer,  made  their  reports ;  some 
general  matters  were  passed  upon,  and  then  the  much- 
talked-of,  long-deferred  subject  of  building  an  addi- 
tion to  their  place  of  worship  was  introduced. 

"You  know,  Brethren,"  said  the  pastor,  "our  house 
does  not  begin  to  hold  the  people  at  the  regular  serv- 
ices, and  we  must  have  more  Sunday  School  room.  It 
seems  to  me  that  there  will  be  no  better  time  than  the 
present.  The  church  is  in  a  prosperous  condition ;  we 
are  out  of  debt ;  and  if  we  ever  expect  to  enlarge  our 
work  we  must  begin." 

"I  know,  Brother  Cameron,"  said  Deacon  Godfrey, 
110 


A  STOinr  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

stating  the  standard  objection,  as  it  had  been  stated 
for  the  past  two  years,  "but  where's  the  money  to 
come  from  ?  The  members  are  paying  all  they  can 
now  to  keep  out  of  debt,  and  I  don't  believe  they  will 
do  any  more." 

"We  do  need  more  room,"  said  Elder  Chambers; 
"that's  a  fact.  The  Sunday  School  is  too  crowded, 
and  lots  of  people  can't  get  to  hear  the  preaching.  But 
I'm  like  Brother  Godfrey,  I  don't  see  how  it's  to  be 
done.  I'm  giving  every  cent  I  can  now,  and  I  know 
lots  of  the  Brethren  who  are  doing  the  same." 

"The  Lord  will  provide,"  said  Deacon  Wickham, 
with  a  pious  uplifting  of  his  eyes,  and  a  sanctimon- 
ious whine  in  his  voice.  "The  Lord  will  provide. 
Brethren,  I'm  ashamed  for  you  to  talk  in  this  doubt- 
ing manner.  What  would  the  congregation  think  if 
they  should  hear  you?  Can't  you  trust  the  Lord? 
Don't,  oh,  don't  doubt  His  precious  promises.  He 
will  provide.  If  we  need  an  addition  to  the  church 
let  us  ask  Him.  He  will  provide." 

"Yes,  the  Lord  will  provide,  but  we've  got  to  do  the 
hustlin',"  said  Uncle  Bobbie.  "He'll  provide  com- 
mon sense  and  expect  us  to  use  it." 

"'Couldn't  the  women  folks  do  something  ?"  timidly 
suggested  another. 

"Of  course  they  could,"  said  Deacon  Sharpe.  "They 
;ould  get  up  a  social,  or  fair,  or  an  entertainment  of 


111 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

some  kind.  They  used  to  do  a  lot  that  way  before 
Brother  Cameron  came." 

"Yes,  and  spent  twenty-seven  cents  to  make  seven- 
teen, while  their  boys  run  the  streets  and  their  hus- 
bands darn  their  own  britches,"  broke  in  Uncle  Bob- 
bie again.  "I  tell  you,  I  don't  believe  that  so  much 
of  this  Ladies'  Aid  business  is  business.  Christ 
wouldn't  run  a  peanut  stand  to  support  the  church, 
ner  pave  a  sinner's  way  to  Heaven  with  pop-corn  balls 
and  molasses  candy —  A  half  smothered  cough 
came  from  the  next  room  and  everybody  started.  "Oh, 
it's  only  Charlie.  He's  got  some  work  to  do  to-night," 
said  the  old  man,  reassuringly. 

"Everybody  does  it  though,"  said  Deacon  Sharpe, 
encouraged  by  the  nods  of  Chambers  and  Godfrey. 
"All  the  churches  depend  upon  the  women,  with  their 
fairs  and  such,  to  pay  their  way.  I  don't  see  what's 
the  harm.  It  gives  the  women  something  to  do,  and 
keeps  us  from  paying  out  so  much  cash." 

"Yes,  an'  that's  what  ails  the  churches,"  retorted 
Elder  Wicks  again.  "There's  too  many  of  'em  run 
on  the  lemonade  and  ice  cream  basis ;  and  as  fer  givin' 
the  women  somethin'  to  do,  my  wife's  got  her  hands 
full  takin'  care  o'  me  and  her  home.  That's  what  I 
got  her  for,  ain't  it  ?  She  didn't  marry  the  church- 
to-be  sure,  though,  it  does  look  like  it  sometimes." 

"We  must  all  work  in  the  Master's  vineyard.  None 
shall  lose  his  reward,"  said  Deacon  Wickham  again. 

112 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"We  all  have  our  talents  and  God  will  hold  us  respon- 
sible for  the  use  we  make  of  them.  We  all  have  our 
work  to  do."  To  which  sentiment  Uncle  Bobbie's  re- 
ply was,  "Yes;  that  means  all  the  women  have  our 
work  to  do,  and  that  we'll  get  our  reward  by  makin' 
'em  do  it.  I  ain't  got  no  use  fer  a  man  who  lets  a 
woman  do  his  work,  even  in  church.  There's  enough 
for  'em  to  do  that  we  can't,  without  their  spoilin'  their 
eyes  and  breakin'  their  backs  makin'  sofa  pillows,  car- 
pet rags,  and  mince  meat,  to  pay  the  runnin'  expenses 
of  the  church,  and  the  debt  besides." 

"I  know  of  only  one  way,"  said  the  pastor,  anxious 
to  prevent  these  too  frequent  clashes  between  the  pious 
deacon  and  the  sharp  old  elder. 

"What's  that  ?"  asked  Chairman  Gardner. 

"The  Young  People's  Society." 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  and  the  sound  as  of  a 
book  falling  to  the  floor  in  the  other  room. 

"TJmph,"  said  Godfrey ;  "what  can  they  do  ?" 

"Have  you  over  attended  their  meetings?"  asked 
Cameron.  "They  have  done  more  practical,  Chris- 
tian work  this  past  year  than  all  the  rest  of  the  church 
put  together.  And  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  are  more 
to  be  depended  upon  at  regular  services,  and  prayer 
meeting,  than  some  members  of  the  official  board." 

"Better  turn  the  church  into  a  Young  Folks'  So- 
ciety then,"  said  Wickham,  angrily ;  "and  throw  away 
the  Bible  altogether.  Christ  didn't  say,  'Upon  this 

113 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

rock  I'll  build  my  Young  People's  Society.'  For  my 
part,  I  won't  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  There  is  not 
a  single  passage  of  Scripture  that  says  we  shall  have 
such  things ;  and  until  you  can  show  me,  book,  chap- 
ter and  verse,  I'll  fight  it." 

"I'll  give  ye  book,  chapter  and  verse,"  said  Uncle 
Bobbie ;  "Phillippians,  iv :  8." 

There  was  a  painful  silence  and  then  one  of  the 
deacons  asked,  "But  would  the  young  folks  help  ?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  the  pastor. 

"We  might  ask  Charlie  Bowen  'bout  that,"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Wicks.  "Charlie,"  he  called,  "are  you 
most  through  with  them  books  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man. 

"Well,  lock  'em  up  and  come  in  here." 

When  they  had  laid  the  matter  before  him  Charlie 
said,  "Yes,  I  am  sure  the  Society  would  take  the  mat- 
ter up  but  for  one  thing;  ever  since  Brother  Cam- 
eron's sermon,  on  the  Church  of  the  Future,  we  have 
been  planning  to  furnish  a  reading  room  somewhere, 
and  it  may  be  that  they  wouldn't  want  to  give  up  the 
idea.  If  it  was  arranged  so  that  we  could  have  a  room 
in  the  church  when  the  addition  was  built,  I  am  sure 
the  Society  would  be  glad  to  take  hold." 

Uncle  Bobbie's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  watched  his 
young  helper.  He  had  not  misjudged  his  man.  This 
was  just  what  he  had  expected.  But  Deacon  Wick- 


114 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

ham  was  on  bis  feet  almost  before  Charlie  finished 
speaking. 

"Brethren,  this  is  entirely  out  of  order.  We  have 
no  right  to  listen  to  the  counsel  of  this  boy.  He  has 
not  a  single  qualification,  for  either  a  deacon  or  an 
elder.  I  believe  we  ought  to  go  according  to  the  Scrip 
tures  or  not  at  all ;  and  as  for  this  new-fangled  idea  of 
a  reading  room  in  the  church,  it's  all  wrong.  The 
Bible  don't  say  a  thing  about  reading  rooms  and  there 
is  no  authority  for  it  whatever.  If  the  inspired  apos- 
tles had  wanted  reading  rooms  in  the  church  they 
would  have  said  so.  Paul  didn't  have  them.  Let  us 
stand  for  the  religion  of  our  fathers  and  let  the  young 
people  read  at  home  if  they  want  to.  Brethren,  I  am 
opposed  to  the  whole  thing.  This  boy  has  no  right  to 
speak  here." 

Wicks  whispered  to  Charlie,  "Never  you  mind  him. 
He's  got  just  so  much  sputtering  to  do  anyway.  I'll 
fix  him  in  a  minute,  and  then  he'll  wash  his  hands  of 
the  whole  matter."  "I  think  it's  a  fine  plan,"  he  said 
aloud. 

"So  do  I,"  agreed  Deacon  Sharpe.  "Why  not  let 
the  young  folks  have  the  room  ?  We  could  charge  ten 
cents  admission  and  make  a  good  thing  for  the 
church.  I  believe  we  ought  to  watch  these  corners 
and  make  a  little  now  and  then.  Paul  worked  to  sup- 
port himself." 

"Make  not  my  Father's  house  an  house  of  merchan- 
115 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

dise,"  said  Cameron,  but  faintly  concealing  his  dis- 
gust. "I  tell  you,  Brethren,  this  thing  must  be  free. 
I  am  sure  that  is  the  plan  of  the  young  folks.  The 
Young  People's  Society  is  not  in  the  business  to  make 
monpy.  Am  I  right,  Charlie  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  young  Christian  eagerly. 
"We  wanted  to  fix  some  place  where  the  young  men 
of  the  town  could  spend  their  evenings,  without  going 
to  the  bad.  There  are  lots  of  them  who  don't  have 
homes,  but  live  in  boarding  houses  and  have  no  place 
to  go." 

"And  a  pretty  crowd  you'll  have  too/'  said  Wick- 
ham. 

"Yes,  and* if  you  had  to  pay  the  preacher  you'd 
want  to  rent  the  room,"  said  Sharpe. 

Cameron's  face  flushed  at  the  hard  words. 

"Come,  come,  Brethren,  what  shall  we  do  about 
this  ?"  said  the  Chairman. 

"I  move,"  said  Elder  Wicks,  "that  we  ask  the 
Young  People's  Society  to  assist  us  in  building  the 
addition  to  the  church,  and  that  we  give  them  one  of 
the  rooms." 

"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Cameron ;  and  it  was 
carried.  Then  the  meeting  adjourned  with  the  usual 
prayer. 

"Well,"  said  Wickham,  "I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  matter." 

Uncle  Bobbie  nudged  Charlie  in  the  side  as  he 
116 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

started  for  his  hat ;  and  later,  as  he  walked  down  the 
street,  arm  in  arm  with  his  pastor  and  his  bookkeeper, 
he  said :  "Poor  old  Wickham ;  his  heart's  all  right,  but 
he's  got  so  much  Scripture  in  his  head  that  his  think 
machine  won't  work." 

"Friends,"  said  Cameron,  as  they  paused  in  front 
of  the  parsonage ;  "this  is  the  day  I  have  looked  for- 
ward to  for  a  long  time.  This  step  will  revolutionize 
our  methods.  It's  hard  to  get  out  of  old  ruts,  but  the 
world  needs  applied  Christianity.  Thank  God  for  tht 
young  people."  And  Uncle  Bobbie  said,  "Amen." 


11* 


CHAPTER  VIII 


HARLIE  BOWEN"  ran  into  the  printing 
office  one  day  on  his  way  home  to  dinner. 
"Dick,"  he  said,  "it's  time  you  got  out  of 
this.  I  want  you  to  put  on  your  best  bib  and  tucker 
to-night  and  go  with  me  to  meet  some  young  people." 

Dick  carefully  spread  a  pile  of  letterheads  on  the 
drying  rack;  then  shutting  off  the  power,  stood 
watching  the  machine  as  its  movements  grew  slower 
and  slower.  "Young  people,"  he  thought ;  "the  Young 
People's  Society  of  the  Jerusalem  Church.  I  saw  the 
announcement  in  to-day's  Independent.  Church 

members she'll  be  there,  and  I'll  have  the  joy  of 

seeing  how  near  I  can  come  to  the  candle  without  get- 
ting my  wings  singed.  Well,  I  suppose  a  fellow  can't 
stay  in  the  dark  all  the  time,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he 
turned  from  the  now  motionless  press. 

"Of  course  not,"  cried  Charlie.  "You've  hidden 
yourself  long  enough.  It  will  do  you  a  world  of  good 
to  get  out ;  and,  beside,  I  always  do  feel  like  a  sneak 

121 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

when  I'm  having  a  good  time  and  you're  moping  up 
here  in  this  dirty  old  place." 

Dick  looked  around.  "I've  moped  in  worse  places," 
he  said.  "But  I'll  go  with  you  to-night  and  be  as 
giddy  as  you  please.  I'll  whisper  pretty  nothings  to 
the  female  lambkins  and  exchange  commonplace  lies 
with  the  young  gentlemen,  and  then — why  then—- 
we'll come  away  again  and  straightway  forget  what 
manner  of  things  we  said  and  did,  and  they  won't 
count  when  we  meet  on  the  street  before  folks." 

"That's  all  right,"  returned  the  other.  "You  just 
come  anyway  and  see  how  badly  you're  mistaken.  I'll 
call  for  you  at  seven-thirty  sharp."  And  he  left  him 
cleaning  up  for  his  mid-day  lunch. 

When  Charlie  returned  to  the  office  that  evening  he 
found  Dick  dressed  ready  to  go,  and  a  strange  con- 
trast the  latter  presented  to  the  poorly-clad,  half- 
starved  tramp  who  had  walked  into  Boyd  City  only  a 
few  weeks  before.  Some  thought  of  this  flashed 
through  Dick's  mind  as  he  read  the  admiration  in  his 
friend's  face,  and  his  own  eyes  glowed  with  pleasure. 
Then  a  shadow  swiftly  came,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
He  was  determined  to  forget,  for  one  evening  at  least. 
"Come  on,"  he  cried  gaily,  squaring  his  shoulders  as 
though  looking  forward  to  a  battle,  "my  soul  seem- 
eth  anxious  for  the  fray." 

Charlie  laughed  as  he  answered,  "I  only  hope  that 
you'll  come  off  whole.  There  will  be  some  mighty 

122 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

E.ice  girls  there  to-night.  Look  out  you  don't  get  your 
everlasting." 

When  the  two  young  men  reached  the  home  of 
Helen  Mayfield,  where  the  social  was  to  be  held,  they 
were  met  at  the  door  by  Miss  Clara  Wilson,  who  was 
Chairman  of  the  reception  committee. 

"Glory,"  whispered  that  young  lady  to  herself. 
"Here  comes  Charlie  Bowen  with  that  tramp  printer 
of  George's.  Wish  George  could  see  him  now."  But 
not  a  hint  of  her  thought  found  expression  in  her  face, 
and  the  cordial,  whole-hearted  way  in  which  she  of- 
fered her  hand  in  greeting,  carried  the  conviction 
that  no  matter  what  might  be  his  reception  from 
others,  this,  at  least,  was  genuine. 

The  guests  gathered  quickly,  and  soon  there  was  a 
house  full  of  laughing,  chattering,  joking  young  peo- 
ple ;  and  Dick,  true  to  his  promise,  laughed  and  chat- 
tered with  the  rest. 

"Who  is  that  tall,  handsome  man  with  the  dark 
hair,  talking  to  those  girls  with  Nellie  Graham  and 
Will  Clifton  ?"  whispered  Amy  Goodrich  to  Miss 
Wilson,  who  had  been  asking  her  why  Frank  was  not 
at  the  gathering. 

"Haven't  you  met  him  yet  ?"  answered  Clara, 
secretly  amused,  for  George  had  told  her  of  the  inci- 
dent at  the  office.  "That's  Mr.  Falkner,  from  Kan- 
sas City.  Come,  you  must  meet  him.  Mr.  Falkner," 
she  said,  skillfully  breaking  up  the  group,  "I  wish  to 

123 


THAT  PEINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

present  you  to  a  very  dear  friend.  Miss  Goodrich, 
Mr.  Falkner."  Poor  Dick  felt  the  room  spin  round 
and  everybody  looking  at  him,  as  he  mumbled  over 
some  nonsense  about  the  great  honor  and  happiness 
of  having  met  Miss  Goodrich  before. 

Amy  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "I  think  you 
are  mistaken,  Mr.  Falkner,"  she  said.  "I  do  not  re- 
member having  met  you.  Where  was  it;  here  in 
town  2" 

With  a  mighty  effort,  Dick  caught  hold  of  himself, 
as  it  were,  and  gazed  around  with  an  air  of  defiance. 
To  his  amazement,  no  one  was  paying  the  least  atten- 
tion to  him.  Only  his  fair  partner  was  looking  up 
into  his  face  with  mingled  amusement,  wonder  and 
admiration  written  on  her  features. 

"In  California;  I  think  it  was  year  before  last," 
he  said  glibly. 

Amy  laughed — "But  I  never  was  in  California  in 
my  life,  so  you  must  be  mistaken."  Then,  as  Dick 
swept  the  room  with  another  anxious  glance :  "What 
is  the  matter,  Mr.  Falkner ;  are  you  looking  for  some- 
one 2" 

"I  was  wondering  where  Charlie  Bowen  went  to," 
he  answered  desperately.  "I  didn't  know  but  what 
he  would  want  me  to  turn  the  ice-cream  freezer  or 
something." 

Miss  Goodrich  laughed  again.     "You're  the  fun- 


124 


niest  man,"  she  said,  and  something  in  her  voice 
or  manner  brought  Dick  to  his  senses  with  a  jar. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "if  I  am  mistaken 
I  am  very  sorry,  I  assure  you." 

"About  the  ice  cream  ?" 

"No,  about  having  met  you  before." 

"Oh,  sorry  that  you  thought  you  had  met  me  ?" 

Dick  protested  to  some  length  with  much  unneces- 
sary earnestness,  and  at  last  suggested  that  they  find 
seats.  Miss  Goodrich  agreed,  and  leading  the  way 
to  an  adjoining  room,  discovered  a  cushioned  corner 
near  the  window.  "Do  you  know,"  she  said,  when 
they  were  seated,  "I,  too,  feel  as  you  do  ?" 

"About  the  ice-cream  ?"  retorted  Dick. 

"No,"  she  laughed,  "about  having  met  you  before." 

"Indeed,  I  am  glad." 

"Glad  ?" 

"Yes,  that  you  feel  as  I  do." 

"Truly,"  she  said,  ignoring  his  reply,  "you  do  re- 
mind me  of  someone  I  have  seen  somewhere.  Oh,  I 
know;  it's  that  tramp  printer  of  Mr.  Udell's,  I — 
Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Falkner?  Are  you 
sick  ?  Let  me  call  someone." 

"No,  no,"  gasped  Dick.  "I'll  be  all  right  in  a  mo- 
ment. It's  my  heart.  Please  don't  worry."  He 
caught  up  a  basket  of  pictures.  "Here,  let's  look  at 
these.  I  find  nothing  that  has  a  more  quieting  effect 


125 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

than  the  things  one  finds  on  the  center  tables  of  our 
American  homes." 

Amy  looked  uneasy  but  began  turning  over  the  pic- 
tures in  the  basket.  There  were  some  commonplace 
photos  of  commonplace  people,  a  number  of  home- 
made kodaks,  one  or  two  stray  views  of  Yellowstone 
Park,  the  big  trees  of  California,  Niagara  Falls,  and 
several  groups  that  were  supposed  to  be  amusing. 
"Oh,  here's  a  picture  of  that  printer,"  she  cried,  pick- 
ing up  one  which  showed  the  interior  of  an  old- 
fashioned  printing  office,  with  a  Washington  hand- 
press  and  a  shock-headed  printer's  devil  sitting  on  a 
high  stool,  his  face  and  shirt-front  bespattered  with 
ink.  "That  looks  just  like  him.  Why, — why,  Mr. 
Falkner,  you've  torn  that  picture !  What  will  Helen 
Mayfield  say  ?" 

"Awfully  sorry,"  said  Dick,  "I'll  find  her  another. 
It  was  very  awkward  of  me,  I  am  sure."  Then  in 
desperation,  "But  tell  me  more  about  this  printer  of 
whom  I  remind  you ;  what  was  his  name  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  that,"  replied  Amy,  "but  he  was 
very  kind  to  me  and  sat  up  at  night  to  design  a  cover 
for  a  little  booklet  I  was  having  printed.  I  never  saw 
him  to  thank  him  though,  for  he  was  out  when  I  called 
the  next  day.  I  heard  that  Mr.  Udell  had  a  tramp 
working  for  him  and  I  suppose  it  was  he,  for  he  acted 
very  strangely-he  may  have  been  drinking.  It  is  too 
bad  for  he  must  have  been  a  splendid  workman.  There 

126 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

ought  to  be  one  of  those  books  here,"  and  she  began 
turning  over  the  things  on  the  table.  "Yes,  here  it 
is."  And  she  handed  Dick  the  pamphlet  that  had 
caused  him  so  much  trouble  that  EJght  in  the  office. 

It  is  hard  to  say  where  the  matter  would  have  ended 
had  not  Miss  Jameson,  another  member  of  the  social 
committee,  appeared  just  then,  and  ordered  them  to 
the  parlor,  where  Amy  was  wanted  to  play. 

After  the  company  had  listened  to  several  instru- 
mental pieces  and  one  or  two  solos  by  different  girls, 
one  of  the  young  men  asked,  "Don't  you  sing,  Mr. 
Falkner?"* 

"Of  course  he  does,"  and  all  began  calling  for  a 
song. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Dick,  and  stepping  quickly 
to  the  piano,  he  played  his  own  accompaniment  and 
sang,  in  a  rich  baritone  voice,  a  street  song : 

"They  tell  me  go  work  for  a  living, 
And  not  round  the  country  to  stamp ; 
And  then  when  I  ask  for  employment, 
They  say  there's  no  work  for  a  tramp." 

The  song  was  by  no  means  a  classic  one,  but  the 
manner  in  which  Dick  rendered  it  made  it  seem  so, 
and  as  he  sang : 

"There's  many  a  true  heart  beating, 
Beneath  the  old  coat  of  a  tramp." 

127 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

A  strange  hush  fell  over  the  little  audience,  and 
rhen  the  song  was  finished  a  subdued  murmur  of  ap- 
plause filled  the  room,  while  eager  voices  called  for 
more.  Dick  responded  with  another  selection  and 
then  declaring  that  he  had  done  his  share,  left  the  in- 
strument and  seated  himself  by  Charlie's  side. 

"Good,  old  man,"  said  that  young  gentleman,  in  a 
whisper,  "but  where  in  the  world  did  you  learn  all. 
that?" 

"Dance  hall  and  variety,"  whispered  Dick,  "J^ever 
thought  I'd  air  that  accomplishment  at  a  church  so- 
cial." 

Charlie's  reply  was  lost  in  a  call  to  the  dining  room, 
where  light  refreshments  were  served  to  the  hungry 
young  people  by  waiters  from  among  their  number; 
then  turn  about,  and  the  waiters  were  waited  upon ; 
and  through  it  all  ran  the  laugh  and  jest  of  happy 
young  folks,  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  each  other's 
company,  and  who  for  one  evening  met  on  common 
ground.  After  supper,  came  games  and  more  music, 
while  a  few  of  the  more  earnest  ones,  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  corner,  discussed  the  reading  room  and  planned 
for  its  future.  Then  came  a  call  for  everyone  to  sing, 
and  with  Amy  at  the  piano,  they  sang  song  after  song 
until  it  was  time  to  go.  Then  the  bustle  of  leave- 
taking — good  nights — lovely  time — my  house  next 
month — and  Dick  found  himself  walking  downtown, 


128 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

arm  in  arm  with  his  friend.  "Well,"  said  the  latter, 
"how  about  it  ?" 

"Thank  you  for  a  pleasant  evening,"  replied  Dick. 
"But  say,  those  folks  don't  know  me,  do  they  ?" 

"Some  of  them  do ;  some  don't.  What  does  it  mat- 
ter?" 

"Well,  tell  me,  did  those  who  know  how  I  came  to 
town,  know  that  I  would  be  there  tonight  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Charlie,  emphatically.  "What  do 
you  take  me  for,  Dick  ?" 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Dick.  "I  ought  to  have  known 
better,  only  you  see  my  experience  with  church  peo- 
ple, and — well — I'm  a  bit  sore  I  guess.  I  couldn't 
believe  there  were  any  like  those.  I  didn't  know, 
that's  all,"  and  with  a  "good-night,"  he  turned  down 
the  street  toward  his  humble  lodging  place,  while 
Charlie  went  on  toward  home. 

"Yes,  that's  all,"  said  the  latter  to  himself.  "Dick 
didn't  know;  and  that's  what's  the  matter  with  hun- 
dreds of  fellows  just  like  him ;  they  don't  know  what 
real  Christianity  is  like;  they  see  so  much  of  the 
aham;  but  he'll  find  out  though,  or  I'm  mistaken. 
My,  what  a  worker  he  would  make,  with  his  experi- 
ence and  talents,  if  only  once  he  got  started  right.  He 
just  made  that  old  street  song  burn  its  way  into  the 
heart,  and  I  felt  like  I  wanted  to  be  a  brother  to  every 
poor,  homeless  chap  in  the  world." 

Meanwhile,  Dick  had  reached  the  office,  and  throw- 
129 


THAT  PEIXTEE  OF  UDELL'S 

ing  off  his  coat,  laid  aside  his  collar,  tie  and  cuffs. 
Then  seating  himself  in  the  rickety  old  chair,  he  tilted 
back  as  far  as  possible  and  fixed  his  feet  as  high  as  he 
could  get  them,  against  the  big  Prouty  press.  Five — 
ten — fifteen-minutes  went  by,  Dick  sat  without  mov- 
ing a  muscle.  The  clanging  bell  of  the  eleven-thirty 
train  on  the  "Memphis"  pulling  into  the  depot, 
sounded  plainly  in  his  ear,  but  still  he  sat  immovable. 
A  night-hawk  cab  rattled  over  the  brick  pavement, 
and  a  drunkard  yelled  beneath  the  window ;  still  Dick 
held  his  place.  So  still  that  a  little  mouse  that  lived 
in  one  corner  of  the  office,  crept  stealthily  out,  and 
glancing  curiously  with  his  bead-like  eyes,  at  the  mo- 
tionless figure,  ran,  with  many  a  pause,  to  the  very 
legs  of  Dick's  chair.  Crash — as  Dick's  feet  struck 
the  floor.  The  shaky  old  piece  of  furniture  almost 
fell  in  ruins  and  the  poor  frightened  mouse  fled  to 
cover.  Kicking  the  chair  to  one  side,  the  young  fel- 
low walked  to  the  window  and  stood  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  looking  into  the  night.  Then,  in  sullen 
tones,  he  addressed  the  lamp  that  twinkled  in  the 
bakery  across  the  way:  "I'm  a  fool.  I  know  I'm  a 
fool ;  a  great  big  fool.  I  ought  to  have  told  her  who 
I  was.  I  ought  to  get  out  a  poster  and  label  myself 
dangerous,  so  people  would  know  they  were  talking 
to  a  tramp.  Oh,  but  when  she  finds  out,  as  she  must 
—and  her  father — ."  Here  Dick's  imagination 
failed  him,  and  he  laughed  again  and  again  in  spite 

130 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

of  himself,  as  he  thought  of  the  tramp  who  had  ap- 
plied to  Adam  Goodrich  for  work,  chatting  with  his 
beautiful  daughter  as  an  equal.  "Whew — but  there'll 
be  a  hot  time  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy  when  they 
learn  the  truth,"  and  he  took  himself  off  to  bed. 


131 


CHAPTER  IX. 


HE  opinions  on  the  part  of  Rev.  Cameron's 
flock  regarding  the  proposed  reading  room, 
were  numerous  and  varied.  Adam  Grood- 
rich,  in  his  usual  pompous  manner,  gave  it  as  his 
judgment  that  Cameron  would  be  running  a  free 
lodging  house  next,  as  though  that  were  the  greatest 
depth  of  infamy  to  which  a  poor  preacher  could  sink, 
and  Mrs.  Goodrich  declared  that  it  would  ruin  the 
social  influence  of  the  church  forever.  Amy  was 
heart  and  soul  with  the  movement,  but  prudently  re- 
frained from  discussing  the  matter  in  the  presence 
of  her  parents;  while  Frank,  though  he  attended  all 
the  meetings  of  the  society  and  would  not  openly  op- 
pose their  efforts  for  fear  of  being  unpopular,  lost  no 
opportunity  to  secretly  throw  a  stumbling  block  in 
their  way,  and  made  all  manner  of  sneering  allusions 
to  the  work  when  he  thought  it  would  not  come  to  the 
ears  of  the  young  people. 

When  at  last  the  room  was  finished  and  ready  to  be 
occupied,  the  committee  appointed  met  to  select  a 
manager.  The  church,  with  the  usual  good  judgment 

136 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

shown  by  churches  in  such  matters,  had  named  Elder 
Wicks  and  Deacon  Wickham,  and  the  young  people 
had  selected  Charlie  Bowen  and  two  young  ladies  to 
represent  the  Society.  They  met  in  the  new  rooms 
one  evening  and  Deacon  Wickham  took  the  floor  at 
om^e. 

"I  hope  our  young  friends  won't  take  offense  at 
what  I  am  ahout  to  say,  but  you  know  I  am  one  of  the 
kind  who  always  say  just  what  I  think,  for  I  believe 
that  if  a  man  has  anything  on  his  mind,  it  had  better 
come  out.  This  business  ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of 
the  church  board;  you  young  folks  have  no  Scrip- 
tural rights  to  speak  on  the  subject  at  all."  The  three* 
young  Christians  looked  at  Uncle  Bobbie,  whose  left 
eye  remained  closed  for  just  the  fraction  of  a  second, 
and  the  speaker  wondered  at  the  confident  smile  with 
which  his  words  were  received.  "There's  not  one  of 
you  that  has  the  proper  qualifications  for  an  elder  or  a 
deacon,"  he  continued.  "You  girls  have  no  right  to 
have  the  oversight  of  a  congregation,  anyway,  and 
Charlie  Bowen  here  is  not  even  the  husband  of  one 
wife." 

"Give  him  time,  Brother  Wickham ;  give  the  b<~>v 
time,"  broke  in  Uncle  Bobbie,  with  a  chuckle,  much 
to  the  delight  of  the  girls,  and  the  confusion  of 
Charlie.  "You  just  wait ;  he  may  surprise  you  some 
day  in  hie  qualifications." 

But  the  deacon  continued  with  a  frown  at  the  in- 
136 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

terruption,  "As  far  as  that  goes-,  the  whole  thing  is 
unscriptural  and  I  was  opposed  to  it  at  the  first,  as 
Brother  Wicks  here  can  tell  you."  Uncle  Bobbie 
nodded.  "But  you've  gone  ahead  in  spite  of  what  I 
and  the  Scriptures  teach,  and  you've  got  your  reading 
rooms ;  and  now  I  mean  to  see  to  it  that  you  have  a 
good  Brother,  who  is  eminently  qualified  to  teach,  at 
the  head  of  the  concern;  a  good  man  who  is  thor- 
oughly grounded  in  the  faith,  and  who  has  arrived 
at  years  of  discretion;  a  workman  that  needeth  not 
to  be  ashamed  of  his  handiwork,  rightly  dividing  the 
word  of  truth.  Such  a  man  could  get  the  young 
Christians  together  evenings  and  lay  out  their  Bible 
reading  for  them,  spending  an  hour  or  two  perhaps, 
each  week,  in  explaining  the  more  difficult  passages. 
If  I  had  time  I  would  be  glad  to  do  the  work  myself, 
for  there's  nothing  I  like  better  than  teaching.  I  don't 
know,  I  might  possibly  find  time  if  the  Brethren 
thought  best  for  me  to  take  the  work.  I  am  always 
ready  to  do  what  the  Lord  wants  me  to,  and  I  promise 
you  that  I'd  teach  those  young  people  the  Scriptures, 
and  make  them  interested,  too.  Why,  when  I  was  in 
Bear  City,  down  in  Oklahoma,  I  had  a — •" 

"But,  Brother  Wickham,"  interrupted  Uncle  Bob- 
bie, who  knew  from  experience  that  if  the  good  deacon 
ever  got  started  on  his  work  in  Oklahoma  they  never 
would  get  to  the  business  of  the  evening,  "it  strikes 
me  you  ain't  got  jist  the  right  ide'  of  this.  Tain't  to 

137 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

be  a  Sunday  School,  ner  a  place  to  teach  the  Bible,  as 
I  understand  it,  though  I  reckon  it's  in  line  with  the 
teachin'  of  Christ.  It  is — ' 

"Not  to  teach  the  Bible  ?"  ejaculated  the  astonished 
deacon.  "What  on  earth  can  you  teach  in  the  church 
except  the  Bible,  and  what  kind  of  a  reading  room 
can  you  have  in  the  Lord's  hoiise  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

"The  ide',  Brother  Wickham,"  said  the  old  elder, 
as  gently  as  he  could,  "is  to  furnish  some  place  where 
young  men  of  the  town  can  go  and  spend  their  time 
when  they  aint  working.  This  room  will  be  stocked, 
with  the  latest  books,  magazines  and  papers;  there 
will  be  tables  with  writin'  material  and  sich  stuff,  if  a 
feller  wants  to  write  to  his  girl,  you  know,  and  the 
room  in  there  will  be  fixed  with  easy  chairs  and  sofas 
for  them  that  wants  to  talk  er  play  games,  er  have  a 
good  time  generally.  Seems  to  me  what  we  want  fer 
a  manager  is  some  young  man  who's  got  good  hoss 
sense,  and  who  could  make  things  pleasant,  even  if  he 
don't  know  so  much  Scripture." 

"And  it's  to  be  free  to  every  loafer  who  wants  tc 
come  in  and  use  the  place  ?" 

"Yes,  just  as  free  as  Christ's  invitation  to  come  and 
(be  saved." 

"But  you'll  fill  the  church  with  a  lot  of  trash  who 
don't  know  anything  about  the  Bible,  or  the  plan  of 
salvation.  How  can  you,  when  the  Scriptures  say, 
have  no  fellowship  with  such  ?" 

138 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"We'll  save  a  few  young  men  who  are  startin'  fer 
Hell  by  way  of  the  saloons  and  bawdy  houses." 

"No  yon  won't.  The  Gospel  and  the  Gospel  alone, 
is  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation.  God  never  or- 
dained that  men  should  be  saved  by  reading  rooms 
and  such." 

"I  believe  I  know  just  the  man  we  want,"  said 
Uncle  Bobbie,  turning  to  the  young  people,  when  the 
deacon  had  at  last  subsided  into  an  attitude  of  sullen 
protest. 

"Who?"  asked  one  of  the  young  ladies,  with  the 
hint  of  a  laugh  in  her  eyes,  as  she  looked  at  their 
stand-by. 

"That  printer  of  Udell's.  He's  a  clean,  strong 
young  feller,  and  I  believe  would  be  glad  of  some  sech 
place  to  spend  his  evenin's.  Of  course  he  aint  a  Chris- 
tian, but — " 

"Xot  a  Christian,"  cried  Wickham,  starting  to  his 
feet  again ;  "not  a  Christian  ?  And  you  propose  to 
let  an  alien  take  charge  of  the  Lord's  work  ?  I  wash 
my  hands  of  the  whole  matter." 

"Are  you  sure  he  will  be  all  right  ?"  asked  the  other 
girl  on  the  committee. 

"Sure,"  replied  Wicks,  "if  he  will  take  it,  and  I 
think  we  can  get  Charlie  here  to  see  to  that." 

Charlie  nodded.  "It  will  be  a  splendid  thing  for 
him,"  he  said ;  and  then  he  told  them  how  Dick  spent 


139 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

his  evenings  alone  in  the  office,  rather  than  go  to  the 
only  places  open  to  him. 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie,  "let's  fix  it  that  way. 
Brother  Wickham,  we  have  decided  to  ask  Richard 
Falkner  to  take  charge  of  the  rooms." 

"I've  got  nothing  to  say  about  it,  sir,"  answered  the 
good  deacon.  "I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I 
wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  matter." 

And  so  the  work  at  the  Jerusalem  Church  was  es- 
tablished. It  took  no  little  power  of  persuasion  on 
the  part  of  Charlie  Bowen,  to  bring  his  friend  to  the 
point  of  accepting  the  committee's  offer,  even  when  it 
was  endorsed  by  the  entire  Young  People's  Society, 
and  a  large  part  of  the  congregation.  But  his  argu- 
ments finally  prevailed  and  Dick  consented  to  be  at 
the  rooms  between  the  hours  of  seven  and  eleven  every 
evening,  the  time  when  a  strong,  tactful  man  in  au- 
thority would  be  most  needed. 

The  rooms  were  furnished  by  friends  of  the  cause 
and  were  cheery,  comfortable,  homelike  apartments, 
where  everyone  was  made  welcome.  Many  a  poor 
fellow,  wandering  on  the  streets,  tired  of  his  lonely 
boarding  house,  and  sorely  tempted  by  the  air  of 
cheerfulness  and  comfort  of  the  saloons,  was  led  there, 
where  he  found  good  books  and  good  company;  and 
at  last,  for  what  was  more  natural,  became  a  regular 
attendant  at  the  only  church  in  the  city  which  did  not 
close  its  doors  to  him  during  the  week. 

140 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

Dick  enjoyed  the  work,  and  in  a  short  time  had 
many  friends  among  the  young  men.  He  treated  ev- 
erybody in  the  same  kindly,  courteous  manner,  and 
was  always  ready  to  recommend  a  book,  to  introduce 
an  acquaintance,  or  to  enter  into  conversation  with  a 
stranger.  Indeed  he  soon  grew  so  popular  among  the 
young  folks  that  George  Udell  told  Miss  Wilson  it 
seemed  as  though  he  had  always  lived  in  Boyd  City, 
he  knew  so  many  people,  and  so  many  knew  him.  And 
of  course  Clara  answered,  "I  told  you  so."  What 
woman  could  resist  such  an  opportunity  ?  "Didn't  I 
Bay  that  he  was  no  common  tramp  ?  You  needn't  tell 
me  I  don't  know  a  man  when  I  see  him." 

The  two  were  driving  in  the  evening,  on  the  road 
that  leads  south  from  town,  down  a  hill,  across  a 
bridge,  and  along  the  bank  of  a  good-sized  creek, 
where  the  trees  bend  far  over  to  dip  the  tips  of  their 
branches  in  the  water,  and  the  flowers  growing  rank 
and  wild  along  the  edges,  nod  lazily  at  their  own  faces 
reflected  in  the  quiet  pools  and  eddies. 

"You  may  know  a  man  when  you  see  him,"  replied 
George,  letting  the  horse  take  his  own  time  beneath 
the  overhanging  boughs,  "but  you  take  precious  good 
care  that  you  don't  see  too  much  of  one  that  I  could 
name." 

"Who  do  you  mean ;  Mr.  Falkner  ?"  replied  Clara, 
with  a  provoking  smile,  as  she  tried  in  vain  to  catch 


141 


one  of  the  tall  weeds  that  grew  close  to  the  side  of  the 
road. 

"Hang  Mr.  Falkner,"  returned  Udell  impatiently. 
"You  know  what  I  mean,  Clara.  What's  the  use  of 
you  and  me  pretending?  Haven't  I  told  you  ever 
since  I  was  ten  years  old  that  I  loved  you,  and  would 
have  no  one  else  to  be  my  wife  ?  And  haven't  you 
always  understood  it  that  way,  and  by  your  manners 
toward  me  given  assent  ?" 

The  girl  looked  straight  ahead  at  the  horse's  ears  as 
she  answered  slowly,  "If  my  manner  has  led  you  to 
have  false  hopes  it  is  very  easy  to  change  it,  and  if 
accepting  your  company  gives  assent  to  all  the  foolish 
things  you  may  have  said  when  you  were  ten  years 
old,  yon'd  better  seek  less  dangerous  society." 

"T"orgive  me  dear,  I  spoke  hastily,"  said  George, 
in  a  much  softer  tone.  "But  it's  mighty  hard  to  have 
you  always  just  within  reach  and  yet  always  just  be- 
yond." 

The  sun  had  gone  down  behind  the  ridge.  The  tim- 
bers of  an  old  mining  shaft,  and  the  limbs  and  twigs 
of  a  leafless  tree  showed  black  against  the  tinted  sky. 
A  faint  breath  of  air  rustled  the  dry  leaves  of  the  big 
sycamores  and  paw-paw  bushes,  and  the  birds  called 
sleepily  to  each  other  as  they  settled  themselves  for 
the  coming  night.  A  sparrow-hawk  darted  past  on 
silent  wings,  a  rabbit  hopped  across  the  road,  while 
far  away,  the  evening  train  on  the  "Frisco"  whistled 

142 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

for  a  crossing;  and  nearer,  a  farm  boy  called  to  his 
cattle.  After  a  long  silence,  George  spoke  again,  with 
a  note  of  manly  dignity  in  his  voice,  which  made  his 
fair  companion's  heart  beat  qiiicker.  "Clara,  look 
at  me;  I  want  to  see  your  eyes,"  he  insisted.  She 
turned  her  face  toward  him.  "Clara,  if  you  can  say, 
I  do  not  love  you  as  a  woman  ought  to  love  her  hus- 
band, I  will  promise  you,  on  my  honor,  never  to  men- 
tion the  subject  to  you  again.  Can  you  say  it  ?" 

She  tried  to  turn  her  head  and  to  hide  the  tell-tale 
color  in  her  cheeks,  but  he  would  not  permit  it.  "An- 
swer me,"  he  insisted.  "Say  you  do  not  love  me  and 
I  will  never  bother  you  again." 

At  last  the  eyes  were  lifted,  and  in  their  light 
George  read  his  answer.  "All  right,"  he  said,  picking 
up  the  whip,  "I  knew  you  could  not  lie ;  you  do  love 
me,  and  I'll  never  stop  asking  you  to  be  my  wife." 
He  turned  the  horse's  head  toward  the  city. 

That  same  evening,  Adam  Goodrich,  with  his  fam- 
ily and  two  or  three  neighbors,  sat  on  the  veranda  of 
the  Goodrich  home,  enjoying  the  beauties  of  the  hour, 
and  passing  the  evening  in  social  chat.  In  the  course 
of  the  conversation,  someone  mentioned  the  rooms  at 
the  Jerusalem  Church.  Adam  grunted.  "What  a 
splendid  tiling  it  is  for  the  young  men,"  said  one  of 
the  lady  callers.  "I  don't  see  why  more  of  the 
churches  don't  adopt  the  plan.  I  wish  ours  would." 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  another,  "and  isn't  that  Mr. 
143 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Falkner,  who  has  charge  of  the  rooms  in  the  evening, 
a  splendid  fellow?  My  brother  speaks  of  him  so 
highly,  and  all  the  young  men  seeia  to  think  so  much 
of  him." 

"Where  is  he  from;  St.  Louis,  is  it?"  asked  the 
first  lady. 

"Kansas  City,"  said  Frank.  "At  least  that's  what 
he  says.  He  bummed  his  way  into  town  last  spring 
and  got  a  job  in  that  infidel  Udell's  printing  office. 
That's  all  anybody  knows  of  him." 

"Except  that  he  has  never  shown  himself  to  be  any- 
thing but  a  perfect  gentleman,"  added  his  sister. 

"Amy,"  said  Mrs.  Goodrich,  a  note  of  warning  in 
her  voice. 

"I  don't  care,  mamma,  it's  the  truth.  What  if  he 
was  out  of  money  and  hungry  and  ragged  when  he 
came  to  town?  He  was  willing  to  work,  and  Mr. 
Udell  says*  that  he  is  a  splendid  workman,  and — " 
But  her  father  interrupted  her.  "Well,  what  of  it  ? 
No  one  knows  anything  about  his  family  or  how  he 
lived  before  he  came  here.  He's  only  a  tramp,  and 
you  can't  make  anything  else  out  of  him.  Some  folks 
are  never  satisfied  unless  they  are  trying  to  make 
gentlemen  out  of  gutter  snipes.  If  we  let  such  fel- 
lows get  a  foothold,  there  won't  be  any  respectable 
society  after  a  while;  it  will  be  all  stable  boys  and 
boot-blacks." 

Later,  when  the  visitors  had  said  good-night  and 
144 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

Amy  and  her  mother  had  entered  the  house,  Frank 
said,  "Father,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing  about  that  man 
Falkner,  you've  got  to  watch  him." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Adam. 

"I  mean  Amy,"  replied  the  other,  moving  his  chair 
nearer  the  old  gentleman  and  speaking  in  a  guarded 
tone.  "He  takes  every  chance  he  can  to  talk  with  her, 
and  she  is  altogether  too  willing  to  listen." 

"Pshaw,"  grunted  the  older  man,  "she  never  sees 
him." 

"That's  where  you  are  mistaken,  father.  They  met 
first  last  spring  in  the  printing  office ;  and  afterwards, 
when  he  had  gotten  in  with  that  soft  fool,  Charlie 
Bowen,  they  met  again  at  the.  Young  People's  social. 
He  was  all  dressed  up  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes  and  of 
course  Amy  didn't  know  him.  They  were  together 
all  that  evening,  and  since  then,  though  she  has  found 
out  who  he  is,  she  talks  with  him  at  every  opportunity. 
They  meet  at  the  Society,  at  church,  at  picnics  and 
parties,  and  sometimes  in  the  printing  office.  I  tell 
you  you'd  better  watch  him.  He's  doing  his  level  best 
to  get  in  with  her,  and  just  look  how  he's  working 
everybody  else.  Half  the  town  is  crazy  over  him." 

Low  spoken  as  were  Frank's  words,  Amy  heard 
every  one,  for  she  had  not  retired  as  her  brother  sup- 
posed, but  was  lying  on  a  couch  just  inside  the  door- 
way of  the  darkened  parlor.  With  burning  cheeks, 
she  rose  cautiously  and  tiptoed  out  of  the  silent  room. 

145 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Making  lier  way  upstairs  and  entering  her  own  cham- 
ber, she  closed  and  bolted  the  door,  and  then,  throw- 
ing herself  on  the  floor  by  the  low  seat  of  an  open 
window,  rested  her  head  on  her  arm  while  she  looked 
up  at  the  stars  now  shining  clear  and  bright.  Once 
she  started  impatiently  and  her  eyes  filled  with  angry 
tears.  Then  she  grew  calm  again,  and  soon  the  girlish 
face  was  worthy  of  a  master's  brush  as  she  gazed  rev- 
erently into  the  beautiful  heavens,  her  lips  moving  in 
a  whispered  prayer;  a  softly  whispered  prayer  for 
Dick.  And  as  she  prayed,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Catalpa  trees,  unseen  by  her,  a  man  walked  slowly 
down  the  street.  Reaching  the  corner,  he  turned  and 
slowly  passed  the  house  again;  crossing  the  street, 
he  passed  once  more  on  the  opposite  side,  paused  a 
moment  at  the  corner,  and  then  started  hurriedly 
away  toward  the  business  portion  of  the  oitf. 


CHAPTER  X 


OV -EMBER,  with  its  whispered  promises  of 
winter  fun,  was  past,  and  the  Christmas 
month,  with  snow  and  ice,  had  been  ushered 
in.  Usually  in  the  latitude  of  Boyd  City,  the  weather 
remains  clear  and  not  very  cold  until  the  first  of  the 
new  year ;  but  this  winter  was  one  of  those  exceptions 
which  are  met  with  in  every  climate,  and  the  first  of 
December  brought  zero  weather.  Indeed,  it  had  been 
unusually  cold  for  several  weeks.  Then,  to  make 
matters  worse,  a  genuine  western  blizzard  came  howl- 
ing across  the  prairie,-  and  whistled  and  screamed 
about  the  streets,  from  which  it  had  driven  everything 
that  could  find  a  place  of  shelter.  The  stores  on 
Broadway  were  vacant,  save  a  few  shivering  clerks. 
In  the  offices,  men  sat  with  their  feet  on  the  stove  and 
called  to  inind  the  biggest  storms  they  had  ever 
known ;  while  street  cars  stood  motionless  and  railway 
trains,  covered  with  ice  and  snow,  came  puffing  into 
the  stations  three  or  four  hours  behind  time.  In 
spite  of  the  awful  weather,  George  Udell  spent  the 
evening  at  the  Wilson  home  on  the  east  side.  He  had 

149 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

not  seen  Clara  for  nearly  two  weeks  and  the  hour  was 
rather  late  when  he  arose  to  prepare  for  the  long,  cold 
walk  to  his  boarding  house.  "And  I  must  wait, 
Clara  ?"  he  asked  again,  as  they  stood  in  the  hallway, 
and  the  girl  answered  rather  sharply,  "Yes,  you  must 
wait.  I  do  wish  you  would  be  sensible,  George."  The 
printer  made  no  reply,  but  paused  for  some  time  withj 
his  hand  on  the  door-knob,  as  though  reluctant  to  leave} 
her  in  such  a  mood.  Then  with  an  "Alright,  good- 
night," he  stepped  out  into  the  storm,  his  mind  filled 
with  bitter  thoughts  that  had  best  be  left  unspoken. 
The  man  did  not  know  how  heavy  was  the  heart 
of  the  girl  who  stood  at  the  window  watching  long 
after  his  form  had  vanished  into  the  night. 

The  wind  was  terrific  and  the  snow  cut  the  print- 
er's face  like  tiny  needles,  while  he  was  forced  again 
and  again  to  turn  his  back  to  the  blast  in  order  to 
breathe,  and  in  spite  of  his  heavy  clothing  was 
chilled  to  the  bone  before  he  had  gone  three  blocks. 
On  Broadway,  he  passed  saloon  after  saloon,  bril- 
liant with  glittering  chandeliers  and  attractive  with 
merry  music,  inviting  all  the  world  to  share  the  good- 
fellowship  and  cheer  within.  He  thought  of  his 
rooms,  how  cold  and  lonely  they  would  be,  and  had 
half  a  mind  to  stop  at  the  hotel  for  the  night.  For 
an  instant  he  hesitated,  then  with  a  shake,  "What 
folly,"  pushed  on  again.  As  he  struggled  along,  fight- 
ing every  inch  of  the  way,  with  head  down  and  body 

150 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

braced  to  the  task,  warm  lights  from  the  windows  of 
many  cozy  homes  fell  across  his  path,  and  he  seemed 
to  feel  the  cold  more  keenly  for  the  contrast.  Then 
through  the  storm,  he  saw  a  church,  dark,  grim  and 
forbidding,  half-hidden  in  the  swirling  snow,  the 
steps  and  entrance  barricaded  with  heavy  drifts.  A 
smile  of  bitter  sarcasm  curled  his  lip  as  he  muttered 
to  himself :  "How  appropriate ;  what  a  fine  monument 
to  the  religious  activity  of  the  followers  of  Christ," 
and  he  almost  laughed  aloud  when  he  remembered 
that  the  sermon  delivered  there  the  Sunday  before 
was  from  the  text,  "I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me 
not  in."  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  stood  peering 
through  the  storm.  In  the  light  of  an  electric  arc, 
which  sizzled  and  sputtered  on  the  corner,  he  saw  a 
dark  form  half  hidden  in  the  snow  piled  about  the 
doorway  of  the  building.  Stepping  closer,  he  reached 
out  and  touched  it  with  his  foot,  then  bending  down, 
he  discovered  to  his  horror  that  it  was  the  body  of  a 
man. 

George  tried  to  arouse  the  fallen  one  and  lift  him 
to  his  feet,  but  his  efforts  only  met  with  failure,  and 
the  other  sank  back  again  on  his  bed  of  snow.  The 
printer  studied  a  moment.  What  should  he  do  ?  Then 
his  eyes  caught  a  gleam  of  light  from  a  house  near 
by.  "Of  course,"  he  thought,  "TTncle  Bobbie  Wicks 
lives  there."  Stooping  again,  he  gathered  the  man 
in  his  arms,  and  with  no  little  effort,  slowly  and  pain- 

151 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

fully  made  his  way  across  the  street  and  along  the 
sidewalk  to  Mr.  Wicks's  home. 

Uncle  Bobbie  was  sitting  before  the  fire,  dozing 
over  his  Sunday  School  quarterly,  when  he  was 
aroused  by  the  sound  of  heavy  feet  on  the  porch  and 
a  strange  knock,  as  though  someone  was  kicking  at 
the  door.  Quickly  he  threw  it  open,  and  Udell,  with 
his  heavy  burden,  staggered  into  the  room. 

"Found  him  on  the  church  steps,"  gasped  the  print- 
er, out  of  breath,  as  he  laid  the  stranger  on  a  couch. 
"I'll  go  for  a  doctor,"  and  he  rushed  out  into  the 
storm  again,  returning  some  thirty  minutes  later  with 
Dr.  James  at  his  heels.  They  found  Uncle  Bobbie, 
who  had  done  all  that  was  possible,  sitting  beside  the 
still  form  on  the  couch.  "You're  too  late,  Doc,"  he 
said.  "The  poor  chap  was  dead  before  George  left 
the  house." 

The  physician  made  his  examination.  "You're 
right,  Mr.  Wicks,"  he  answered,  "we  can  do  nothing 
here.  Frozen  to  death.  Must  have  died  early  in  the 
evening." 

The  doctor  returned  to  his  home  to  get  what  sleep 
he  could  before  another  call  should  break  his  rest,  and 
all  that  niglit  the  Christian  and  the  infidel  sat  to- 
gether, keeping  watch  over  the  dead  body  of  the  un- 
known man. 

The  next  morning  the  coroner  was  summoned ;  the 
verdict  was  soon  handed  in,  "Death  by  exposure."  Or 

152 


the  body  was  found  a  church  statement  that  there  had 
been  paid  to  the  current  expense  fund,  in  the  quarter 
ending  August  first,  the  sum  of  three  dollars,  but  the 
name  written  with  lead  pencil  was  illegible.  Besides 
this,  was  a  prayer-meeting  topic-  card,  soiled  and 
worn,  and  a  small  testament,  dog-eared,  with  much 
fingering,  but  no  money.  A  cheap  Christian  En- 
deavor pin  was  fastened  to  the  ragged  vest.  There 
was  nothing  to  identify  him,  or  furnish  a  clew  as  to 
where  he  was  from.  The  face  and  form  was  that  of  a 
young  man,  and  though  thin  and  careworn,  showed 
no  mark  of  dissipation.  The  right  hand  was  marked 
by  a  long  scar  across  the  back  and  the  loss  of  the 
little  finger.  The  clothing  was  very  poor. 

Among  those  who  viewed  the  body  in  the  undertak- 
ing rooms  where  it  lay  for  identification,  was  Dick, 
and  Udell,  who  was  with  him,  thought  that  he  seemed 
strangely  moved  as  he  bent  over  the  casket.  George 
called  his  attention  to  the  disfigured  hand,  but  Dick 
only  nodded.  Then,  as  they  drew  back  to  make  room 
for  others,  he  asked  in  a  whisper,  "Did  they  search 
thoroughly  for  letters  or  papers  ?  Sometimes  people 
hide  important  documents  in  their  clothing,  you 

know." 

i 

"No,  there  was  nothing,"  answered  George.  "We 
even  ripped  out  the  linings." 

When  they  reached  the  open  air  Dick  drew  a  long 


153 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

breath.     "I  must  hurry  back  to  the  office,"  he  said. 
"I  suppose  you'll  not  be  down  to-day." 

"No,  I  must  arrange  for  the  funeral ;  you  can  get 
along  I  guess." 

"Oh  yes,  don't  worry  about  that,"  was  the  reply, 
and  the  young  man  started  off  down  the  street,  but  at 
the  corner  he  turned,  and  walking  rapidly,  in  a  few 
moments  reached  the  church  where  the  body  of  the 
stranger  was  found. 

The  steps  and  walks  had  been  carefully  cleaned  and 
the  snow  about  the  place  was  packed  hard  by  the  feet 
of  the  curious  crowd  who  had  visited  the  scene  earlier 
in  the  morning. 

Dick  looked  up  and  down  the  street.  There  was  no 
one  in  sight.  Stepping  swiftly  to  the  pile  of  snow 
which  the  janitor  had  made  with  his  shovel  and 
broom,  he  began  kicking  it  about  with  his  feet.  Sud- 
denly, with  an  exclamation,  he  stopped  and  again 
glanced  quickly  around.  Then  stooping,  he  picked  up 
a  long,  leather  pocketbook,  and  turning,  walked  hur- 
riedly away  to  the  office. 

The  body  was  held  as  long  as  possible,  but  when  no 
word  could  be  had  as  to  the  poor  fellow's  identity,  he 
was  laid  away  in  a  lot  purchased  by  the  printer,  who 
also  bore  the  funeral  expenses.  When  Uncle  Bobbie 
would  have  helped  him  in  this,  George  answered: 
"No,  this  is  my  work.  I  found  him.  Let  me  do  this 
for  his  mother's  sake." 

154 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

The  funeral  was  held  in  the  undertaking  rooms. 
Dick  Falkner,  Uncle  Bobbie  and  his  wife,  and  Clara 
Wilson,  with  George,  followed  the  hearse  to  the  ceme- 
tery. 

To-day,  the  visitor  to  Mt.  Olive,  will  read  with 
jWonder,  the  inscription  on  a  simple  stone,  bearing  no 
name,  but  telling  the  story  of  the  young  man's  death, 
and  followed  by  these  words,  "I  was  a  stranger  and  ye 
took  me  not  in." 

The  church  people  protested  loudly  when  it  was 
known  how  the  grave  was  to  be  marked,  but  George 
Udell  answered  that  he  wanted  something  from  the 
Bible  because  the  young  man  was  evidently  a  Chris- 
tian, and  that  the  text  he  had  selected  was  the  only 
appropriate  one  he  could  find. 

The  evening  after  the  funeral,  Charlie  Bowen  and 
Dick  sat  alone  in  the  reading  room,  for  the  hour  was 
late  and  the  others  had  all  gone  to  their  homes. 
Charlie  was  speaking  of  the  burial.  "I  tell  you,"  he 
said,  "it  looks  mighty  hard  to  see  a  man  laid  away 
by  strangers  who  do  not  even  know  his  name,  and 
that  too,  after  dying  all  alone  in  the  snow  like  a  poor 
dog.  And  to  think  that  perhaps  a  mother  is  watching 
for  him  to  come  home;  and  the  hardest  part  is  that 
he  is  only  one  of  many.  In  a  cold  snap  like  this,  the 
amount  of  suffering  among  the  poor  and  outcast  is 
something  terrible.  If  only  the  bad  suffered,  one 
might  not  feel  so." 

155 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Dick  made  no  reply,  but  sat  staring  moodily  into 
the  fire. 

"I've  studied  on  the  matter  a  good  bit  lately,"  con- 
tinued Charlie.  "Why  is  it  that  people  are  so  indif- 
ferent to  the  suffering  about  them?  Is  Udell  right 
when  he  says  that  church  members,  by  their  own 
teaching,  prove  themselves  to  be  the  biggest  frauds  in 
the  world  P 

"He  is,  so  far  as  the  church  goes,"  replied  Dick; 
"but  not  as  regards  Christianity.  This  awful  neglect 
and  indifference  comes  from  a  lack  of  Christ's  teach- 
ing, or  rather  from  a  lack  of  the  application  of 
Christ's  teaching,  and  too  much  teaching  of  the 
church.  The  trouble  is  that  people  follow  the  church 
and  not  Christ ;  they  become  church  members,  but  not 
Christians." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  church  ought  to  fur- 
nish a  lodging  place  for  every  stranger  who  comes  to 
town  ?"  asked  Charlie. 

"I  mean  just  this,"  answered  Dick,  rising  to  his 
feet  and  walking  slowly  back  and  forth  across  the 
room,  "there  is  plenty  of  food  in  this  world  to  give 
every  man,  woman  and  child  enough  to  eat,  and  it  is 
contrary  to  God's  law  that  the  helpless  should  go  hun- 
gry. There  is  enough  material  to  clothe  every  man, 
woman  and  child,  and  God  never  intended  that  the 
needy  should  go  naked.  There  is  enough  wealth  to 
house  and  warm  every  creature  tonight,  for  God  never 

156 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

meant  that  men  should  freeze  in  such  weather  aa 
this;  arid  Christ  surely  teaches,  both  by  words  and 
example,  that  the  hungry  should  be  fed,  the  naked 
clothed,  and  the  homeless  housed.  Is  it  not  the  Chris- 
tian's duty  to  carry  out  Christ's  teaching?  It  is  an 
awful  comment  on  the  policy  of  the  church  when  a 
young  man,  bearing  on  his  person  the  evidence  of  his 
Christianity  and  proof  that  he  supported  the  institu- 
tion, dies  of  cold  and  hunger  at  the  locked  door  of  the 
house  of  God.  That,  too,  in  a  city  where  there  are 
ten  or  twelve  denominations,  paying  at  least  as  many 
thousand  dollars  for  preachers*  salaries  alone  each 
year." 

"But  we  couldn't  do  it" 

"The  lodges  do.  There  is  more  than  enough  wealth 
spent  in  the  churches  in  this  city,  for  useless,  gaudy 
display,  and  in  trying  to  get  ahead  of  some  other  de- 
nomination, than  would  be  needed  to  clothe  every 
naked  child  in  warmth  to-night.  You  claim  to  be 
God's  stewards,  but  spend  his  goods  on  yourselves, 
while  Christ,  in  the  person  of  that  boy  in  the  ceme- 
tery, is  crying  for  food  and  clothing.  And  then  you 
wonder  why  George  Udell  and  myself,  who  have  suf- 
fered these  things,  don't  unite  with  the  church.  The 
wonder  to  me  is  that  such  honest  men  as  you  and  Mr. 
Wicks  can  remain  connected  with  such  an  organiza- 
tion." 

"But,"  said  Charlie,  with  a  troubled  look  on  hia 
157 


face,  "would  not  such  work  encourage  crime  and  idle- 
ness ?" 

"Not  if  it  were  done  according  to  God's  law,"  an- 
swered Dick.  "The  present  spasmodic,  haphazard, 
sentimental  way  of  giving  does.  It  takes  away  a  man'ef 
self-respect;  it  encourages  him  to  be  shiftless  and 
idle ;  or  it  fails  to  reach  the  worthy  sufferers.  Which- 
ever way  you  fix  it,  it  kills  the  man." 

"But  what  is  God's  law  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"That  those  who  do  not  work  should  not  eat,"  re- 
plied Dick;  "and  that  applies  on  the  avenue  as  well 
as  in  the  mines." 

"How  would  you  do  all  this,  though?  That  has 
been  the  great  problem  of  the  church  for  years." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  it  has  not  been  the  prob- 
lem of  the  church.  If  the  ministry  had  spent  one- 
half  the  time  in  studying  this  question  and  trying  to 
fulfill  the  teaching  of  Christ,  that  they  have  wasted 
in  quarreling  over  each  other's  opinions,  or  in  tickling 
the  ears  of  their  wealthy  members,  this  problem  would 
have  been  solved  long  ago.  Different  localities  would 
require  different  plans,  but  the  purpose  must  always 
be  the  same.  To  make  it  possible  for  those  in  want 
to  receive  aid  without  compromising  their  self- 
respect,  or  making  beggars  of  them,  and  to  make 
it  just  as  impossible  for  any  unworthy  person  to  get 
along  without  work." 

For  gome  minutes  the  silence  in  the  room  was  only 
118 


A  STORr  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

broken  by  the  steady  tramp,  tramp,  as  the  speaker 
marched  up  and  down. 

"Dick,"  said  Charlie,  "do  you  believe  that  any- 
thing could  be  done  here  ?" 

Dick  started  and  looked  sharply  at  his  companion. 
"Of  course  it  could,  if  only  the  church  would  go  about 
it  in  a  businesslike  way." 

Charlie  shook  his  head.  "That's  hopeless.  The 
church  will  never  move  in  the  matter.  Brother  Cam- 
eron has  preached  again  and  again  on  those  subjects 
and  they  do  nothing." 

"But  has  your  pastor  presented  any  definite  plan 
for  work?"  asked  Dick.  "It's  one  thing  to  preach 
about  it,  and  another  thing  to  present  a  plan  that  will 
meet  the  need.  That's  the  great  trouble.  They're  all 
the  time  preaching  about  Christianity  and  trying  to 
live  as  they  talk,  in  a  sickly,  sentimental  fashion; 
when  of  all  things  in  the  world  Christianity  is  the 
most  practical,  or  it  is  nothing." 

"The  young  folks  would  take  it  up,  I  am  sure," 
said  Charlie.  "Say,  will  you  suggest  a  plan  to  the 
Society  ?" 

"I'm  like  the  rest,"  said  Dick,  with  a  slight  smile. 
"I'm  preaching  when  I  have  no  remedy,"  and  he 
began  locking  up  for  the  night.  "But,"  as  they 
stepped  out  into  the  street,  he  added,  "I'll  not  go 
back  on  my  statement  though.  I  beliere  it  can  be 

done." 

159 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject  so  much  in 
<:he  hearts  o±  the  young  men,  until  the  Saturday 
before  the  regular  monthly  business  meeting  of  the 
Young  People's  Society.  Then  Charlie  broached  the 
matter  to  Diek  as  together  they  walked  down  the 
street  at  the  close  of  their  day's  work. 

"No,"  said  Dick,  "I  have  not  forgotten,  and  I  be- 
iieve  I  have  a  plan  that  would  meet  the  needs  of  the 
3ase  as  it  is  in  this  city." 

"Will  you  go  before  the  Young  People's  Society 
at  their  meeting  next  Tuesday  night,  and  explain 
your  scheme  ?" 

Dick  hesitated.  "I  fear  they  would  not  listen  to 
ine,  Charlie,"  he  said  at  last.  And  then  added,  as  he 
rested  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  other's  shoulder, 
"You  see,  old  man,  people  here  don't  look  at  me  as 
yon  do.  They  can't,  or  won't  forget  the  way  I  came 
to  town,  and  I  fear  they  would  not  attach  much  weight 
to  my  opinion,  even  should  they  consent  to  hear  me." 

"That's  where  you're  wrong,  Dick,  all  wrong.  I 
know  there  are  some  who  look  at  things  in  that  light, 
but  they  wouldn't  do  anything  if  Paul  himself  were 
to  teach  them.  But  there  are  many  who  want  only 
someone  to  lead  the  way.  Take  myself  for  instance. 
I  realize  what's  needed,  and  I  honestly  want  to  do 
something,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  go  at  it;  and 
Dick,  if  this  problem  is  ever  solved,  it  will  be  through 
someone  like  you,  who  knows  from  actual  experience ; 

160 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

not  from  occasional  slumming  expeditions;  whose 
heart  is  filled  with  love  for  men;  who  is  absolutely 
free  from  ecclesiastical  chains,  and  who  is  a  follower 
of  no  creed  but  Christ,  a  believer  in  no  particular 
denomination." 

Dick  smiled  at  his  friend's  manner.  "You  too, 
have  been  doing  a  little  thinking,"  he  said  quietly. 
"But  had  this  come  to  you,  that  the  man  must  also  be 
a  Christian  ?" 

"Yes,  a  Christian  so  far  as  he  is  a  believer  in  the 
truths  that  Christ  teaches;  but  not  in  the  generally 
accepted  use  of  that  -word ;  which  is,  that  a  man  can't 
be  a  Christian  without  hitching  himself  up  in  some 
denominational  harness." 

"If  you  believe  that,  why  do  you  wear  the  badge  ?" 
asked  Dick,  drily. 

"Because  I  believe  that  while  the  man  who  takes 
the  initiative  must  owe  allegiance  to  no  particular 
congregation,  the  work  must  be  carried  on  by  the 
church ;  there  are  many  Christians  who  are  thinking 
on  these  lines,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  some  day 
see  that  the  church  with  all  its  shortcomings  and  mis- 
takes, is  of  divine  origin;  and  that  she  needs  just 
such  men  as  yourself  to  lead  her  back  to  the  sim- 
plicity of  Christ's  life  and  teaching.  But  that's  not 
the  question,"  he  continued,  as  he  saw  a  slight  shadow 
cross  the  face  of  his  companion.  "The  question  is: 
Will  you  go  before  the  Young  People's  Society  next 

161 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Tuesday  night  and  submit  your  plan  as  a  suggested! 
way  to  do  Christ's  work  here  in  the  city  ?  You  see, 
you'll  not  be  going  before  the  church,  and  I  will  give 
you  such  an  introduction  that  there  will  be  no  danger 
of  a  mistaken  notion  as  to  your  presence." 

The  two  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  reached 
the  door  of  Dick's  restaurant.  "Won't  you  come  in 
and  eat  with  me  ?"  he  said. 

"Not  unless  you  need  more  urging/'  answered 
Charlie,  with  a.  laugh,  "for  I  have  other  fish  to  fry 
just  now." 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "I'll  go." 


162 


CHAPTER  XI, 


EEDLESS  to  say  that  Charlie  Bowen,  who 
was  the  president  of  the  Young  People's 
Society  at  this  time,  took  particular  pains 
to  notify  each  member  that  there  would  be  a  matter 
of  unusual  importance  to  discuss  at  the  next  meet- 
ing. And  so,  when  he  called  the  Society  to  order 
at  eight  o'clock  Tuesday  evening,  in  the  lecture  room 
of  the  church,  almost  the  entire  membership,  includ- 
ing Rev.  Cameron,  was  present.  Dick  remained  in 
the  reading  room,  but  it  was  understood  between  the 
two  that  he  was  to  be  called  in  at  the  proper  time. 

After  the  regular  routine  business  had  been  dis- 
posed of,  the  president  stated  that  he  wished  to  in- 
troduce a  matter  of  great  importance,  which  he  felt 
sure  would  interest  every  Christian  present.  He  then 
called  to  their  minds  some  of  the  teaching  they  had 
heard  from  their  pastor,  along  lines  of  practical 
Christianity;  noticed  briefly  the  condition  of  things 
in  Boyd  City ;  and  asked  if  they  would  not  be  glad  to 
remedy  such  evils.  The  nodding  heads  and  earnest 
faces  told  Charlie  of  their  interest.  After  recalling 

165 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Jhe  death  of  the  young  man  found  by  George  Udell, 
he  told  of  his  conversation  with  Dick.  "I  am  aware 
that  Mr.  Falkner  makes  no  profession  of  Christian- 
ity," he  said,  "but  you  know  him  and  need  no 
word  from  me  to  tell  you  of  the  strength  of  his  charac- 
ter." He  then  explained  how  he  had  asked  Dick  to 
speak  to  them,  and  after  delicately  stating  the  latter's 
objections,  asked  if  they  would  receive  him  and  listen 
to  his  ideas  of  Christian  work. 

At  the  close  of  Charlie's  talk,  the  Society  gladly 
voted  to  invite  Dick  in,  and  three  of  the  boys  started 
to  find  him,  when  Rev.  Cameron  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
in  a  voice  full  of  emotion,  said:  "My  dear  young 
people.  Wait  just  a  moment.  My  heart  is  moved 
more  than  I  can  say,  by  the  Christian  spirit  you  are 
showing.  And  now,  before  your  invitation  is  carried 
to  Mr.  Falkner,  let  us  bow  our  heads  in  prayer,  that 
we  may  be  guided  by  the  Holy  Spirit  in  listening  to 
the  things  he  may  have  to  put  before  us,  and  in  any 
discussion  of  this  subject  that  may  follow." 

A  deep  hush  fell  on  the  little  band  of  young  people 
as  they  followed  their  pastor's  example,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  a  wonderful  presence  filled  all  the  room.  The 
thought  flashed  through  Cameron's  mind,  "This  must 
be  another  step  in  the  new  era  of  Christian  work  in 
this  city."  And  then,  in  a  few  beautiful  words,  he 
voiced  the  prayer  in  the  hearts  of  the  young  people, 
and  the  committee  appointed  went  to  call  Dick.  They 

166 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

found  him  nervously  pacing  up  and  down  the  passage- 
way between  the  reading  room  and  the  parlor.  Mak- 
ing known  the  wish  of  the  Society,  they  escorted  him 
to  the  meeting  in  the  other  part  of  the  building.  He 
was  greeted  by  smiling  faces,  nods  of  encouragement, 
and  just  a  faint  ripple  of  applause,  that  sprung  from 
a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  young  people  to  let  him 
know  that  they  were  glad  to  bid  him  welcome,  and 
ready  to  give  him  their  attention. 

The  president  stated  simply  that  he  had  explained 
to  the  Society  the  purpose  of  Mr.  Falkner's  visit,  and 
that  he  could  assure  the  latter  he  was  most  heartily 
welcome.  At  Charlie's  words,  the  ripple  of  applause 
became  a  wave,  which  in  its  strength,  left  no  doubt  on 
Dick's  mind  as  to  their  earnestness  and  interest. 
Bowing  his  thanks  he  began,  while  both  Charlie  and 
Cameron  wondered  at  his  ease  of  manner,  and  the 
strange  power  of  his  simple,  but  well-chosen  words. 

"I  have  no  means  of  knowing  what  your  president 
may  have  said  by  way  of  introduction  of  myself,  or 
as  a  preface  to  my  remarks,  but  judging  from  your 
faces,  the  manner  in  which  you  receive  me,  and  my 
knowledge  of  him,  I  feel  that  I  am  safe  in  assum- 
ing that  he  has  said  all  that  is  necessary,  and  that 
I  may  proceed  at  once  with  my  plan.  But  let  me  add 
simply  this :  What  T  have  to  say  to  you  is  in  no  way 
new  or  startling.  I  claim  no  originality,  for  I  have 
simply  gathered  from  the  works  of  better  men  that 

167 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

which  seems  to  me  best  fitted  for  the  needs  of  this 
particular  city.  And  understand,  farther,  that  I  speak 
in  no  sense  as  a  Christian,  but  from  the  standpoint  of 
one  to  whom  has  been  given  opportunities  for  study 
along  these  lines,  I  hope  may  ever  be  denied  you. 

As  I  understand  it,  the  problem  that  we  have  to 
consider  is,  briefly,  how  to  apply  Christ's  teaching 
in  our  own  town.  Let  me  suggest  first:  That  there 
are  in  this  city,  as  in  every  city,  two  classes  who 
present  their  claims  for  assistance ;  the  deserving  and 
undeserving.  Any  plan  which  does  not  distinguish 
between  these  two  classes  must  prove  a  failure,  be- 
cause it  would  encourage  the  idle  in  their  idleness, 
and  so  prove  a  curse  instead  of  a  blessing.  It  would 
make  fraud  profitable  by  placing  a  premium  rather 
than  a  penalty  on  crime ;  and  it  would  make  the  suf- 
ferings of  the  truly  unfortunate  much  keener  by  com- 
pelling them  to  yield  their  self-respect  as  the  price 
of  their  succor.  The  only  test  that  can  possibly  suc- 
ceed in  distinguishing  between  these  two  classes  is  the 
test  of  work. 

The  first  thing  necessary  would  be  a  suitable  build- 
ing. This  building  should  have  sleeping  rooms,  din- 
ing room,  sitting  room,  kitchen,  store-room  and  a 
bath  room.  There  should  also  be  a  large  yard  with 
an  open  shed  in  the  rear.  I  would  have  the  sleep- 
ing rooms  small,  and  a  single  cot  in  each,  for  you 
know  it  is  sometimes  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone. 

168 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

h,  ought  not  to  be  hard  to  find  twenty-five  people  in 
the  church  who  would  furnish  a  room  each,  at  a  cost 
of  say  three  dollars.  The  reading  room  supplies 
could  be  donated  by  friends  who  would  be  glad  to  give 
their  papers  and  magazines  when  they  were  through 
with  them,  just  as  your  present  room  is  supplied. 
Now  if  you  stop  to  think,  in  this  mining  city  every- 
one burns  coal,  and  kindling  wood  ought  to  find  a 
ready  sale.  I  believe  the  merchants  would  be  glad  to 
give  away  their  old  packing  cases,  boxes  and  barrels. 
These  could  be  collected,  hauled  to  the  yard,  there 
worked  up  into  kindling  and  delivered  to  the  custom- 
er. The  whole  establishment  to  be  under  the  super- 
vision of  some  man  who,  with  his  family,  could  oc- 
cupy rooms  in  the  building.  All  the  work  of  the 
house,  kitchen,  dining  room,  care  of  the  sleeping 
rooms,  and  all,  must  be  done  by  the  inmates.  When 
a  man  applied  for  help  he  would  be  received  on  these 
conditions :  that  his  time  belonged  wholly  to  the  insti- 
tution, and  that  he  receive  for  his  work  only  food  and 
bed,  with  the  privilege  of  bath  and  reading  room  of 
course.  If  he  refused  to  comply  with  these  condi- 
tions, or  to  conform  to  the  rules  of  the  institution, 
no  food  would  be  issued,  nor  would  he  be  admitted. 
This  briefly  is  my  plan.  I  would  be  glad  to  have 
you  ask  questions  and  make  objections  or  sugges- 
tions, for  I  believe  that  would  be  the  best  way  to 
thoroughly  understand  the  matter."  Dick  paused 

169 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

and  one  of  the  young  people  asked :    "What  would  be 
the  cost  of  the  building  and  its  furnishings  ?" 

"That  I  cannot  say,"  replied  Dick.  "It  would 
depend  of  course  upon  how  large  an  establishment 
you  wished  to  conduct.  I  should  think  a  houae  might 
be  found  in  some  convenient  locality,  which  could  be 
converted  into  the  right  thing,  for  I  would  not  think 
of  a  large  institution  at  the  start.  It  would  grow  as 
fast  as  the  people  came  to  believe  in  it." 
"You  spoke  of  a  store-room — what  for  ?" 
"Let  the  people  contribute  clothing,  which  could 
be  kept  and  issued  by  the  superintendent  in  charge.  1 
said  store-room,  that  the  material  might  always  be 
on  hand  when  needed." 

"Would  you  receive  women  ?" 
"No;  they  would  require  a  separate  institution 
with  a  different  kind  of  employment." 

"Would  we  not  need  women  to  do  the  housework  ?" 
"No,  everything  could  be  done  by  the  men  under 
the  direction  of  the  superintendent's  wife." 

"Would  the  merchants  contribute  boxes  enough  ?" 
"That,"  with  a  bow  and  a  smile,  "is  a  matter  for 
the  Society  to  look  after.  The  workers  at  the  institu- 
tion would  gather  them  up  and  haul  them  to  the  yard. 
Old  side-walks,  fences,  tumbled-down  buildings,  could 
also  be  used,  so  the  supply  need  not  run  short,  and 
the  city  would  be  much  improved  if  these  things  were 
gathered  up  and  utilized." 

170 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"Would  the  people  buy  the  kindling-wood  ?" 

"That  again,  is  the  business  of  the  Society.  Every 
member  should  be  a  salesman.  The  kindling  would 
fee  put  up  in  bundles  of  uniform  size,  warranted  to 
be  dry  and  to  give  satisfaction  and  delivered  at  the 
door  by  the  workers  of  course.  It  ought  not  to  be  dif- 
ficult for  you  to  secure  a  sufficient  number  of  regular 
customers  to  insure  the  success  of  the  business.  You • 
see,  it  is  not  a  church-begging  scheme,  for  it  benefits' 
every  person  connected  with  it,  and  every  person  pays 
for  what  he  gets.  The  citizens  would  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  feeling  that  they  were  assisting  only  the  worthy 
sufferers,  and  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  they 
were  receiving  their  money's  worth." 

"Would  the  income  be  sufficient  to  pay  all  bills  ?" 
asked  Cameron. 

"The  food,  of  course,  could  be  of  the  plainest,  and 
could  be  bought  in  quantities.  Twenty  cents  will 
feed  a  man  a  day.  It  is  possible,  of  course,  to  live  on 
less,"  Dick  added,  with  a  whimsical  smile,  which  was 
met  with  answering  smiles  from  the  company  of  in- 
terested young  people.  "Xow  suppose  you  had  for 
the  start,  one  hundred  regular  customers,  who  would 
pay,  each,  ten  cents  per  week  for  their  kindling !  that 
would  bring  you  ten  dollars  per  week,  which  would 
feed  seven  people.  ~Not  a  large  thing  I  grant  you,  but 
a  start  in  the  right  direction,  and  much  more  than 
the  church  is  doing  now.  The  other  expenses  would 

171, 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

not  be  large,  and  I  am  confident  that  the  institution 
would  be  self-supporting.  But  bear  in  mind  that  the 
Society  must  own  the  grounds  and  building,  so  that 
there  would  be  no  rent.  That  must  be  the  gift  of  the 
people  to  the  poor." 

"How  would  the  superintendent  and  his  wife  be 
paid?" 

"They  would  receive  their  house  rent,  provisions, 
and  a  small  weekly  salary,  paid  either  by  the  Society, 
the  church,  or  the  institution.  There  are  many  men 
and  women  who  would  be  glad  to  do  such  work." 

"Would  kindling-wood  be  the  only  industry  ?" 

"I  believe  other  things  would  suggest  themselves. 
I  am  only  planning  a  start  you  know.  I  said  kindling- 
wood  because  that  seems  to  be  the  most  practical 
thing  for  this  particular  city." 

"Would  not  men  impose  on  the  institution  by 
working  j  ust  enough  to  get  their  food  and  remain  idle 
the  rest  of  the  time  ?" 

"That,"  said  Dick,  "is  the  greatest  danger,  but  I 
believe  it  would  be  met  in  this  way :  You  remember 
I  said  that  the  time  of  the  inmates  must  be  given 
wholly  to  the  institution.  The  men  could  be  kept 
busy  at  the  housework,  scrubbing  and  cleaning  when 
not  in  the  yard.  Then  too,  they  could  be  hired  out  to 
do  odd  jobs  of  rough  work  for  the  citizens ;  the  wages 
all  to  go  to  the  institution.  Thus,  if  every  man  was 
kept  busy  eight  hours  each  day,  and  received  only  hia 

172 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

food  and  a  place  to  sleep,  there  would  be  no  tempta- 
tion to  remain  longer  than  necessary.  The  institution 
would  also  act  as  an  employment  agency,  and  when 
a  man  was  offered  work  of  any  kind  he  would  no 
longer  be  permitted  to  remain  in  the  home.  Much  of 
this  would  necessarily  be  left  to  the  discretion  of  the 
managers  and  directors." 

This  question  seemed  to  bring  the  matter  to  a  close 
as  far  as  Dick  was  concerned,  and  after  asking  if 
there  was  anything  more,  and  again  calling  attention 
to  the  fact  that  the  greatest  obstacle  in  the  way  was 
a  suitable  building,  he  thanked  them  for  their  atten- 
tion and  took  his  seat. 

Then  followed  a  warm  discussion.  Several  spoke 
enthusiastically  in  favor  of  the  scheme.  One  or  two 
thought  it  very  good,  but  feared  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble because  of  the  building  needed.  A  few  offered 
amendments  to  the  plan.  Finally  a  committee  was 
appointed  to  see  if  a  suitable  building  could  be  se- 
cured, and  the  meeting  was  adjourned. 

At  once  the  young  people  crowded  about  Dick, 
shaking  his  hand,  thanking  him,  asking  questions, 
making  suggestions,  with  now  and  then  a  happy  laugh 
or  jest.  Much  to  Charlie's  delight,  Dick,  for  the 
time  being,  forgot  himself  and  talked  and  laughed 
and  prophesied  with  the  rest  about  our  institution 
and  the  things  we  would  do.  But  in  the  midst  of  it  all, 
his  manner  suddenly  changed,  and  making  his  way 

173 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

quickly  to  Charlie's  side  he  whispered,  "Good-night, 
old  man,  I  must  go." 

"So  soon  ?"  asked  his  friend  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"Yes,"  replied  Dick  hurriedly,  "I  must."  And 
^Charlie  was  left  wondering  at  the  pain  in  his  face, 
:which  a  moment  before  had  been  so  bright,  for  he 
(did  not  know  that  Dick  had  heard  Frank  Goodrich 
saying  to  his  sister,  "Come,  we  must  go  home.  We 
can't  afford  to  associate  with  that  tramp,"  and  that  he 
had  seen  Amy  leaving  the  room  on  her  brother's  arm, 
without  even  acknowledging  his  presence  by  so  much 
as  a  glance. 

The  next  morning  bright  and  early,  Deacon  Wick- 
ham  might  have  been  seen  knocking  at  the  door  of 
the  parsonage.  "Why,  good  morning,  Brother,"  cried 
Cameron,  throwing  wide  the  door  and  extending  his 
hand.  "What  good  fortune  brought  you  out  so  early  ? 
Come  in.  Come  in." 

""No  good  fortune,  sir,"  replied  the  deacon,  and 
seating  himself  very  stiffly  on  the  edge  of  the  straight- 
est-baeked  chair  in  the  room,  he  glared  with  stern 
eyes  at  the  pastor,  who  threw  himself  carelessly  into 
an  easy  rocker.  "No  good  fortune,  sir;  I  came  to 
inquire  if  it  is  true  that  you  are  encouraging  that 
unscriptural  organization  in  their  foolish  and  world- 
wise  plans." 

Cameron  put  on  a  puzzled  loot.  "What  organiza- 
tion, and  what  plans  ?"  he  asked. 

174 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"There,"  said  the  good  deacon,  with  a  sigh  of  great 
relief.  "I  told  Sister  Jones  that  there  must  be  some 
mistake,  for  though  you  and  I  don't  always  agree,  and 
lock  horns  sometimes  on  certain  passages  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, I  did  not  believe  that  you  were  so  far  from  the 
teaching  of  the  Word  as  that." 

"As  what?"  asked  Cameron  again,  but  this  time 
with  a  faint  glimmer  of  understanding  in  his  voice. 
"Please  explain,  Brother  Wickham." 

"Why,  Sister  Jones  came  over  to  my  house  early 
this  morning  and  told  me  that  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Young  People's  Society  last  night,  that  young  upstart 
Falkner,  laid  down  plans  for  doing  church  work,  and 
that  you  were  there  and  approved  of  them.  That 
rattle-neaded  boy  of  hers  is  all  carried  away." 

The  preacher  nodded,  "Well  ?" 

"I  could  not  believe  it  of  course,  but  she  said,  as 
near  as  I  could  gather,  that  you  were  going  to  have 
the  church  buy  a  house  and  keep  all  the  tramps  who 
came  to  Boyd  City.  A  more  unscriptural  thing  I 
never  heard  of.  Were  you  at  the  meeting  last  night  ?" 

"Yes,  I  was  there,"  said  Cameron  slowly. 

The  official  frowned  again  as  he  said  sharply: 
"You'll  do  more  good  for  the  cause,  Brother  Cameron, 
if  you  spend  your  time  calling  on  the  members.  There 
is  Deacon  Godfrey's  wife  hasn't  been  out  to  services 
for  three  months  because  you  haven't  been  to  see  her ; 
and  you're  ruining  the  church  now  by  your  teach* 

175 


THAT  PKLNTER  OF  UDELL'S 

ing.  You've  got  to  build  on  a  Scriptural  foundation 
if  you  want  your  work  to  last.  All  these  people 
you've  been  getting  in  the  last  two  years  don't  know  a 
thing  about  first  principles." 

The  minister  tried  to  explain:  "The  plan  sug- 
gested last  night  by  Mr.  Falkner,  who  was  there  at  the 
invitation  of  the  Society,  was  simply  for  an  institu- 
tion that  would  permit  a  man  who  was  homeless,  cold 
and  hungry,  to  pay  for  food  and  lodging  until  he 
could  do  better.  In  short,  to  prevent  deaths  like  that 
of  the  young  man  found  frozen  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  that  fellow,"  said 
the  deacon.  "If  he  had  followed  the  teaching  of  the 
Scriptures  he  wouldn't  have  been  in  that  fix.  The 
Word  says  plainly:  'He  that  provideth  not  for  his 
own  is  worse  than  an  infidel.'  You  don't  know 
whether  he  was  a  Christian  or  not.  He  may  have 
never  been  baptized.  Indeed,  I  am  ready  to  prove 
that  he  never  was,  for  the  Scripture  says  that  the 
righteous  are  never  forsaken,  nor  their  seed  begging 
for  bread.  I've  lived  nearly  fifty  years  now  and  I 
never  went  hungry  and  never  slept  out-doors  either." 

Cameron  sat  silently  biting  his  lip ;  then  looking  his 
parishioner  straight  in  the  eye,  said:  "Brother 
Wickham,  I  cannot  harmonize  your  teaching  with 
Christ's  life  and  character." 

"My  teaching  is  the  Scripture,  sir;  I'll  give  you 
book,  chapter  and  verse,"  snapped  the  deacon. 

176 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"Christ  taught  and  lived  a  doctrine  of  love  and 
helpfulness  toward  all  men,  even  enemies,"  continued 
Cameron.  "When  I  remember  how  he  pointed  out 
the  hungry  and  naked  and  homeless,  and  then  said: 
'Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  unto  one  of  the  least  of 
these,  ye  did  it  not  unto  me/  I  cannot  help  but  feel 
sure  in  my  heart  that  we  are  right,  and  I  must  tell 
you  that  Mr.  Falkner's  plan  for  doing  just  that  work 
is  the  most  practical  and  common-sense  one  I  have 
ever  heard.  The  only  thing  I  find  to  wonder  at  is  the 
stupidity  of  the  church  and  myself,  that  we  did  not 
adopt  it  long  ago." 

"Then  I  am  to  understand  that  you  support  and 
encourage  this  unscriptural  way  of  doing  things  ?" 

"I  most  certainly  have  given  my  support  to  the 
young  people  in  this  effort;  and  as  far  as  possible, 
will  encourage  and  help  them  in  their  labor  of  love." 

"Labor  of  love,  fiddlesticks,"  said  the  deacon ; 
"Labor  of  foolishness.  You'll  find,  sir,  that  it  will 
be  better  to  take  my  advice  and  the  advice  of  the 
eacred  writers,  instead  of  going  off  after  the  strange 
teaching  of  an  outcast  and  begging  infidel." 

"Stop  1"  said  Cameron,  springing  to  his  feet,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  that  few  people  ever  heard  him  use. 
"I  beg  of  you  be  careful  that  you  do  not  go  too  far. 
Whatever  his  religious  convictions  may  be,  Mr.  Falk- 
ner  is  neither  an  outcast  nor  a  beggar ;  and  although 
I  am  only  your  pastor,  it  might  be  well  for  you  to  re- 

177 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

member  that  I  am  also  a  gentleman,  and  will  allow  no 
man  to  speak  of  my  friends  in  any  such  language," 

"Well,  well,"  whined  Wickham  hastily,  holding 
out  his  hand,  "The  Scriptures  say  that  there  must  be 
love  between  brethren,  and  I  want  you  to  know  that 
I  bear  you  no  ill  will  whatever,  no  ill  will  whatever ; 
but  I  warn  you,  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter. I  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  it." 

Cameron  took  the  proffered  hand  and  replied, 
"That's  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  Brother  Wickham. 
You  have  discharged  your  duty  faithfully  as  an  offi- 
cer in  the  church  and  are  released  from  all  responsi- 
bility whatever." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  other,  as  he  stood  on  the 
porch ;  "And  don't  let  them  call  on  me  for  any  money. 
Remember  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  thing. 
How  much  did  you  say  it  would  cost  ?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,  exactly." 

"Well,  you  know  I  can't  give  anyway.  I'm  already 
doing  more  than  my  share  in  a  scriptural  way,  and  I 
must  wash  my  hands  of  this." 

"Yes,"  said  Cameron  to  himself,  as  he  shut  the 
door ;  "A  certain  Roman  governor  washed  his  hands 
once  upon  a  time."  And  then  the  pastor  took  himself 
to  task  for  his  uncharitable  spirit. 

Later  in  the  day,  Rev.  Cameron  had  another  vis- 
itor. Old  father  Season,  whose  hair  had  grown  white 
in  the  Master's  service.  He  had  been  with  his  con- 

178 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

gregation  over  twenty  years  and  they  would  not  give 
him  up ;  for  while  his  sermons  may  have  lost  some  of 
their  youthful  fire,  they  were  riper  for  the  preacher's 
long  experience,  and  sweeter  for  his  nearness  to  the 
.source  of  love. 

The  old  man  met  Cameron's  outstretched  hand  of 
welcome  with  a  smile  that,  in  itself,  was  a  benedic- 
tion. Though  identified  with  a  different  denomina- 
tion, he  was  a  close  friend  to  the  pastor  of  the  Jerusa- 
lem Church,  and  always  stood  ready  to  draw  from  his 
wealth  of  experience  for  the  benefit  of  his  younger 
brother.  When  they  were  seated  in  Cameron's  cozy 
den  with  a  basket  of  fruit  between  them,  Rev.  Bea- 
son  began: 

"Brother  Jim,  what's  this  about  the  proposed  work 
of  your  young  people  ?  Suppose  you  tell  me  about  it, 
if  you  don't  mind.  I've  heard  a  good  many  things 
to-day,  and  I  just  thought  I'd  run  over  and  get  the 
straight  of  it." 

Cameron  laughed  as  he  carefully  selected  a  rosy- 
cheeked  apple.  "You're  the  second  caller  I've  had 
to-day  who  needed  straightening  out.  I've  been  wish- 
ing you  would  run  in,  and  if  you  had  not,  I  would 
have  been  over  to  see  you  this  evening.  This  work 
is  right  along  lines  that  you  and  I  have  talked  over 
many  times."  And  then  he  told  the  whole  story. 

When  Cameron  had  finished,  the  older  man  asked 


179 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

a  few  questions,  and  then  slowly  nodding  his  head, 
repeated  softly:  "Thy  kingdom  come,  thy  will  be 
done,  on  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven." 

"Brother  Cameron,  you  know  that  I  belong  to  a 
church  that  is  noted  for  its  conservative  spirit,  but  I 
have  been  preaching  more  years  than  you  have  lived, 
and  have  been  at  it  too  long  to  be  bound  altogether 
by  the  particular  belief  of  any  particular  people,  and 
I  want  to  say  to  you  that  if  I  were  a  younger  man, 
I  would  take  just  your  course  exactly.  There  is  no 
use,  Brother  Jim,  of  our  flinching  or  dodging  the 
question.  The  church  is  not  meeting  the  problems  of 
the  day,  and  it's  my  candid  opinion  that  ninety-nine 
out  of  every  hundred  preachers  know  it.  But  I'm 
too  old  to  make  the  fight.  I  haven't  the  strength  to 
do  it.  But  my  boy,  do  you  go  in  to  win,  and  may 
God's  richest  blessing  rest  upon  you.  And  you'll  stir 
this  city  as  it  never  was  stirred  before.  I  only  wish 
I  were  twenty  years  younger ;  I'd  stand  by  you.  But 
this  needs  young  blood  and  I  am  an  old,  worn-out 
man.  It  is  almost  time  that  I  was  going  home,  and  I 
dare  not  take  up  any  work  like  this  that  will  need 
years  of  patient  labor  to  complete."  He  arose  to  hi* 
feet,  and  grasping  Cameron's  hand,  said,  "Good- 
night, Brother  Jim;  we  older  men  must  turn  our 
work,  all  unfinished,  over  to  younger,  stronger  hands 
to  complete.  My  boy,  see  that  you  keep  that  which 


180 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

is  committed  unto  you,  and  don't,  Oh  don't,  be  side- 
tracked by  the  opinions  of  men.  The  victory  will  be 
yours,  through  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord.  Good-night 
Jim,  I  thank  God  for  this  day/' 


181 


CHAPTER  XII. 


I  HE  sun  sank  into  the  prairie  and  tinted  the 
sky  all  red  and  green  and  gold  where  it 
shone  through  the  rents  in  the  ragged  clouds 
of  purple  black.  The  glowing  colors  touching  dull, 
weather-beaten  steeples  and  factory  stacks,  changed 
them  to  objects  of  interest  and  beauty.  The  poison- 
ous smoke  from  smelter  and  engine,  that  hung  always 
over  the  town  like  a  heavy  vail,  shot  through  with  the 
brilliant  rays,  became  a  sea  of  color  that  drifted  here 
and  there,  tumbled  and  tossed  by  the  wind,  while 
above,  the  ball  of  the  newly  painted  flag-staff  on  the 
courthouse  tower  gleamed  like  a  signal  lamp  from 
another  world.  And  through  it  all,  the  light  reflected 
from  a  hundred  windows  flashed  and  blazed  in  won- 
drous glory,  until  the  city  seemed  a  dream  of  un- 
earthly splendor  and  fairy  loveliness,  in  which  the 
people  moved  in  wonder  and  in  awe.  Only  for  a  mo- 
ment it  lasted.  A  heavy  cloud  curtain  was  drawn  hur- 
riedly across  the  west  as  though  the  scene  in  its  mar- 
velous beauty  was  too  sacred  for  the  gaze  of  men 
whose  souls  were  dwarfed  by  baser  visions.  For  an 

185 


THAT  PKINTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

instant  a  single  star  gleamed  above  the  curtain  in  the 
soft  green  of  the  upper  sky ;  then  it  too  vanished,  blot- 
ted out  by  the  flying  forerunners  of  the  coming  storm. 
About  nine  o'clock,  when  the  first  wild  fury  of  the 
gale  had  passed,  a  man,  muffled  in  a  heavy  coat  and 
with  a  soft  hat  pulled  low  over  his  face,  made  his  way 
along  the  deserted  streets.  In  front  of  the  Goodrich 
hardware  and  implement  store,  he  stopped  and  looked 
carefully  about  as  though  in  fear  of  some  observer. 
Then  taking  a  key  from  his  pocket,  he  unlocked  the 
door  and  entered.  Walking  quickly  through  the  room 
to  the  office,  as  though  familiar  with  the  place,  he 
knelt  before  the  big  safe,  his  hand  upon  the  knob 
that  worked  the  combination.  A  moment  later  the 
heavy  door  yielded  to  his  hand.  Taking  a  bunch  of 
keys  from  his  pocket,  he  selected  one  without  hesita- 
tion, and  upon  applying  it,  the  cash  box  opened,  re- 
vealing a  large  sum  of  money.  Catching  up  a  package 
of  bills,  he  placed  it  in  his  side  coat  pocket,  and 
locking  the  cash  box  again,  was  closing  the  safe, 
.  when  he  paused  as  though  struck  with  a  sudden 
thought.  The  storm  without  seemed  to  be  renew- 
ing its  strength.  The  dashing  of  sleet  and  snow 
against  the  windows,  the  howling  of  the  wind,  the 
weird  singing  of  the  wires,  and  the  sharp  banging 
of  swinging  signs  and  shutters,  carried  terror  to  the 
heart  of  the  man  kneeling  in  the  dimly  lighted  office. 
Sinking  on  the  floor,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 

186 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

and  moaned  aloud,  "My  God — What  am  I  doing? 
What  if  I  should  fail?" 

Again  there  came  a  lull  in  the  etorm;  everything 
grew  hushed  and  still,  almost  as  if  the  very  spirit  of 
the  night  waited  breathlessly  the  result  of  the  battle 
fought  in  the  breast  of  the  tempted  man.  Bising 
slowly  to  his  knees,  he  swung  back  the  heavy  doors 
and  once  more  unlocking  the  cash  box  reached  out  to 
replace  the  package  of  bills;  but  with  the  money 
before  his  eyes  he  paused  again.  Then  with  a  sud- 
den exclamation,  "I  won't  fail  this  time ;  I  can't  lose 
always,"  he  quickly  closed  the  safe,  and  with  the 
money  in  his  pocket,  sprang  to  his  feet  and  hurried 
out  of  the  building,  where  the  storm  met  him  in  all 
its  fury,  as  though  striving  to  wrest  from  him  that 
which  he  had  taken  from  another.  But  with  set  face 
and  clenched  fists,  he  pushed  into  the  gale,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  room  on  the 
top  floor  of  a  big  hotel.  He  was  admitted  and  greeted 
cordially  by  two  men  who  were  drinking  and  smoking. 

"Hello  Frank,"  they  exclaimed ;  "We  thought  you 
(had  crawfished  this  time  sure.  What  makes  you  so 
late ;  it  is  nearly  ten  ?" 

"Oh,  the  old  man  had  some  work  for  me,  of  course. 
What  a  beastly  night.  Where's  Whitley  ?"  He  tried 
to  speak  carelessly,  but  his  eyes  wavered  and  his  hands 
trembled  as  he  unbuttoned  his  heavy  coat. 

"'You're  right ;  this  storm's  a  ripper.  Jim  will  be 
187 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

back  in  a  minute ;  he  just  stepped  down  to  the  corner 
drug-store  to  see  a  man.  Here  he  is  new;"  as  an- 
other low  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  and  the  fourth 
man  entered,  shaking  the  snow  from  his  fur-trimmed 
coat. 

"Pile  out  of  your  duds,  boys,  and  have  a  drink. 
Good  liquor  hits  the  spot  a  night  like  this." 

Whitley  grasped  the  proffered  glass  eagerly  and 
emptied  it  without  a  word,  but  Frank  refused. 

"You  know  I  don't  drink,"  he  said,  shortly ;  "take 
it  yourself  if  you  need  it,  and  let's  get  to  work."  He 
drew  a  chair  to  the  table  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

The  others  laughed  as  they  took  their  places,  and 
one  said,  as  he  shuffled  a  deck  of  cards :  "We  forgot 
you  were  a  church  member."  And  the  other  added, 
with  a  sneer,  "Maybe  you'd  like  to  open  the  services 
with  a  song  and  prayer." 

"You  drop  that  and  mind  your  own  business,"  re- 
torted young  Goodrich,  angrily.  "I'll  show  you  to- 
night  that  you  can't  always  have  your  own  way.  Did 
you  bring  my  papers  with  you  ?"  The  others  nodded 
and  one  said,  "Whitley  here  told  us  you  wanted  a 
chance  to  win  them  back  before  we  were  obliged  to 
collect.  It's  to  be  cash  tonight  though,"  added  the 
other;  "good  cold  cash,  against  the  notes  we  hold." 

"For  God's  sake,  shut  up  and  play,"  growled  Frank 
in  reply.  "I  guess  there's  cash  enough,"  and  he  laid 
the  package  of  bills  on  the  table.  Four  eyes  gleamed 

188 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

in  triumph.  Whitley  looked  at  the  young  man 
keenly  and  paused  with  the  cards  in  his  hands.  Then 
he  dealt  and  the  game  began. 

Meanwhile  Adam  Goodrich  and  his  wife  were  en 
tertaining  the  whist  club,  of  which  they  were  en- 
thusiastic members,  for  it  was  the  regular  weekly 
meeting;  and  though  the  weather  was  so  rough  not 
a  few  of  the  devoted  lovers  of  the  game  were  present. 

In  the  conversation  that  preceded  the  play,  the 
Young  People's  Society,  with  Dick  Falkner's  plan  of 
work,  was  mentioned.  Nearly  all  of  the  guests  being 
members  of  different  churches,  expressed  themselves 
quite  freely,  with  a  variety  of  opinions,  until  the 
host,  with  annoyance  plainly  expressed  on  his  proud 
face  and  in  his  hard  cold  voice,  said :  "You  must  not 
think,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  because  I  and  my 
family  are  members  of  the  Jerusalem  Church,  that 
we  agree  with  Kev.  Cameron  in  his  outlandish  ideas. 
We  have  never  been  accustomed  to  associating  with 
such  low  characters  as  he  delights  in  forcing  us  to 
meet  in  the  congregation ;  and  if  he  don't  change  his 
line  of  work  some,  he  will  drive  all  the  best  people 
to  other  churches." 

The  guests  all  nodded  emphatic  approval  and  each 
silently  resolved  to  send  his  pastor  to  interview  the 
Goodrich's  without  delay. 

Adam  continued :  "As  for  that  tramp  printer  and 
his  fool  plan,  I  say  that  it's  just  such  stuff  that  causes 

189 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

all  the  discontent  among  the  lower  classes  and  makes 
them  unfit  to  serve  their  betters,  and  that  my  chil- 
dren shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  have  not 
brought  them  up  to  follow  the  lead  of  a  vagabond  and 
a  nobody." 

Amy's  face  flushed  painfully  and  she  lifted  her 
head  as  though  to  speak,  when  Mrs.  Goodrich  silenced 
her  with  a  look,  and  skilfully  changed  the  subject  by 
saying:  "It's  too  bad  Frank  won't  be  here  to-night. 
He  enjoys  these  evenings  so  much  and  plays  so  well. 
But  he  and  Mr.  Whitley  are  spending  the  evening 
with  a  sick  friend.  The  dear  boy  is  so  thoughtful  of 
others  and  is  always  ready  to  give  up  his  own  pleas- 
ures. And  Mr.  Whitley  too;  he  will  miss  the  game 
so  much,  and  Amy  loses  a  strong  partner."  The 
company  took  the  hint  and  talked  of  other  things  until 
the  all-absorbing  game  began. 

And  so,  while  the  son  played  with  his  friend  Whit- 
ley, and  the  two  professional  gamblers  at  the  hotel, 
played  with  fear  in  his  face  and  a  curse  in  his  heart, 
to  save  himself  from  sure  disgrace,  his  fond  parents 
and  beautiful  sister  at  home,  forgot  his  absence  in 
their  eager  efforts  to  win  with  the  cards  the  petty  prize 
of  the  evening,  a  silver-mounted  loving  cup. 

One,  two,  three  hours  passed.  The  storm  had  spent 
its  strength ;  Mr.  Goodrich  had  won  the  coveted  prize, 
and  the  guests  of  the  evening  had  returned  to  their 
homes.  The  last  of  the  pile  of  bills  before  Frank 

190 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

was  placed  in  the  center  of  the  table.  The  silence 
was  unbroken  save  for  the  sound  of  the  shuffling  cards 
and  the  click  of  a  whiskey  glass  as  one  of  the  men 
helped  himself  to  a  drink. 

Suddenly  young  Goodrich  leaped  to  his  feet  with 
a  wild  exclamation:  "Tom  Wharton,  you're  a  liar 
and  a  cheat!"  As  he  spoke,  a  heavy  chair  whirled 
above  his  head  and  fell  with  a  crashing  blow  upon 
the  man  who  sat  at  his  right.  Instantly  all  was  con- 
fusion; the  table  was  overturned;  the  cards,  money 
and  glasses  scattered  over  the  room.  Whitley  and  the 
other  man  stood  in  blank  astonishment  at  the  sudden 
outburst.  Frank  leaped  at  his  prostrate  victim,  with 
a  chair  again  raised  to  strike,  and  had  the  second  blow 
fallen,  he  would  have  been  a  murderer,  for  the  intent 
to  kill  shone  from  his  glittering  eyes.  But  Whitley, 
just  in  time,  caught  his  arm,  while  the  other  drew  a 
knife  and  stepped  between  the  crazed  man  and  his 
victim. 

"Stop,  you  fool  1"  said  Whitley.  "And  you,  Jack, 
put  up  that  knife  and  look  after  Tom.  This  is  a 
nice  mess  for  us  to  be  caught  in."  The  gambler  did 
as  he  was  bid,  but  Frank  struggled  in  his  friend's 
grasp.  "Let  me  go,  Jim.  Let  me  at  him.  I'm 
ruined  anyway  and  I'll  finish  the  man  that  did  it 
before  I  go  myself."  But  Whitley  was  the  stronger 
and  forced  him  backward,  while  the  other  man  was 
busy  with  his  fallen  partner. 

191 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Ruined  nothing,"  said  Jim  in  Frank's  ear.  "I'll 
stand  by  you.  You  get  out  of  this  quick  and  go  to  my 
room.  I'll  come  when  I've  settled  with  them."  He 
unlocked  the  door  and  pushed  Frank  into  the  hall, 
just  as  the  man  on  the  floor  struggled  to  his  feet. 

The  two  gamblers  turned  on  Whitley  in  a  rage 
when  they  saw  Frank  had  escaped.  Standing  with 
his  back  to  the  door,  he  let  them  curse  a  few  minutes 
and  then  said  calmly :  "Now  if  you  feel  better  let's 
take  a  drink  and  talk  it  over." 

When  he  had  them  quiet  again  he  continued,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone:  "Suppose  you  fellows  raise  a 
row  about  this,  what  will  you  gain  ?" 

''We'll  teach  that  young  fool  a  lesson  he  won't 
forget  soon,"  snarled  the  one  who  had  fallen. 

"Yes,  and  you'll  pay  big  for  the  lesson,"  replied 
Whitley  quietly. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  that  if  this  gets  out  young  Goodrich  is 
ruined  and  you  won't  get  a  cent  on  the  paper  you 
hold." 

Wharton's  friend  nodded,  "That's  straight,  Tom," 
he  said. 

"Well,"  growled  the  other;  "What  of  it,  the  old 
man  won't  pay  it  anyway." 

"Yes  he  would,"  returned  Jim  quickly,  "if  you 
didn't  make  it  public;  but  I  don't  happen  to  want 
him  to  know  about  this  little  deal." 

192 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"What's  it  to  you  ?" 

"Never  mind  what  it  is  to  me.  I  know  what  I'm 
doing,  and  I  don't  want  this  to  get  out." 

"How'llyouhelpit?" 

"This  way."  He  took  a  check-book  from  hig 
pocket.  "Make  the  notes  over  to  me  and  I'll  add 
two  hundred  to  the  amount.  Go  after  Frank  and  you 
get  nothing.  Go  to  the  old  man  and  you  get  what 
the  paper  calls  for.  Keep  your  mouth  shut  and  sell 
me  the  notes  and  you  get  an  extra  hundred  apiece. 
What  do  you  say  ?" 

"I  say  yes,"  exclaimed  Jack,  with  an  oath;  "I'm 
no  fool."  And  the  other  grumhled  a  surly  "All  right. 
But  I'd  like  to  get  one  crack  at  that  kid's  head." 

"You'll  have  to  pass  that  little  pleasure  this  time." 
said  the  other  with  a  laugh.  "Write  your  check, 
Whitley  and  let's  get  out  of  this.  I'm  sleepy." 

When  Whitley  reached  his  room  after  settling  with 
the  two  gamblers,  he  found  Frank  pacing  the  floor, 
his  face  white  and  haggard. 

"Sit  down.  Sit  down,  old  man;  and  take  things 
easy.  You're  all  right.  Look  here."  And  he  drew 
the  notes  from  his  pocket. 

Frank  sank  into  a  chair.  "What  have  you  done  ?* 
he  gasped.  "How  did  you  get  those  ?" 

Whitley  laughed.  "Just  invested  a  little  of  my 
spare  cash,  that's  all,"  he  said. 


193 


THAT  PKINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"But  I  tell  you  I'm  ruined.  I  can't  pay  a  third  of 
that  in  six  years." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  won't  have  to."  Frank  stared. 
"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  Amy,"  the  other  replied  coolly.  "You 
poor  idiot,  can't  you  see.  I  can't  afford  to  have  you 
disgraced  before  the  world  under  the  circumstances. 
If  I  wasn't  in  it,  I'd  let  you  go  to  thunder  and  serve 
you  right.  But  a  fine  chance  I'd  have  to  marry  your 
sister  if  she  knew  about  this  business  tonight.  If 
it  wasn't  for  her  I'd  let  you  hang  your  fool  self  too 
quick,  before  I'd  spend  a  dollar  on  your  worthless 
carcass;  but  I've  said  that  I  would  marry  that  girl 
and  I  will,  if  it  costs  every  cent  I've  got,  and  you'll 
help  me  too." 

Frank  was  silent  for  a  time,  completely  cowed  by 
the  contempt  in  the  other's  voice,  too  frightened  to 
protest.  But  at  last  he  managed  to  say:  "There's 
more  than  those  notes." 

"I  know  that  too,"  quickly  returned  Whitley,  with 
an  oath.  "How  much  did  you  steal  from  the  old  man's 
safe  tonight  ?" 

"What — How — How  do  you  know?"  stammered 
the  other. 

"Saw  you,"  returned  Whitley,  shortly;  and  then 
added,  as  Frank  rose  to  his  feet  and  began  walking 
the  floor  again.  "Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake  quit  your 
tragedy  and  sit  down.  You  make  me  tired.  You're 

194 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

not  cut  out  for  either  a  gambler  or  a  robber.  You 
haven't  the  nerve." 

Frank  was  silent,  while  the  other  went  to  a  small 
eupboard  and  leisurely  helped  himself  to  a  glass  of 
whiskey ;  then  lit  a  fresh  cigar. 

"What  can  I  do?"  ventured  Frank  at  last,  in  a 
voice  but  little  above  a  whisper. 

Jim  crossed  the  room,  and  unlocking  a  drawer  in 
his  desk,  returned  with  a  handful  of  bills.  "You 
can  put  that  money  back  in  the  safe  before  morning 
and  keep  your  mouth  shut."  And  then  when  Frank 
attempted  to  grasp  his  hand,  while  stammering  words 
of  gratitude,  he  said,  "No  thanks,"  and  put  his  own 
hands  behind  his  back  in  a  gesture  that  there  was  no 
mistaking.  "Be  a  good  boy,  Frankie.  Listen  with 
more  care  to  your  pastor's  sermons ;  keep  your  Young 
People's  Society  pledge;  read  your  Bible  and  pray 
every  day,  and  take  part  in  all  the  meetings,  and  when 
I  marry  your  sister  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  these 
papers.  But  Oh  Lord,"  he  added,  with  a  groan, 
"you'll  make  a  healthy  brother-in-law,  you  will." 

"How  much  did  you  say?" 

Frank  muttered  the  amount  he  had  stolen. 

Jim  quickly  counted  it  out  and  threw  the  bills  on 
the  table.  "There  you  are.  And  now  you  better  go 
quickly  before  you  slop  over  again  and  I  kick  you." 
And  turning  his  back  he  poured  himself  another  glass 
of  liquor  while  Frank,  with  the  money  in  his  band, 

195 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

sneaked  from  the  room  like  a  well-whipped  cur.  And 
over  his  head,  as  he  crept  stealthily  down  the  street 
toward  his  father's  store,  the  stars  shone  clear  and 
cold  in  their  pure,  calm  beauty,  while  the  last  of  the 
storm-cloud  on  the  far  horizon  covered  the  face  of 
the  bright  new  moon. 


196 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


[HE  committee  appointed  by  the  Society 
called  on  Mr.  Wicks  at  his  office,  and  found 
him  deep  in  a  letter  to  an  old  lady,  whose 
small  business  affairs  he  was  trying  to  straighten 
out.  He  dropped  the  matter  at  once  when  they  en- 
tered, and,  after  shaking  hands,  as  though  he  had 
not  seen  them  for  years,  said :  "Now  tell  me  all  about 
it.  To-be-sure,  Charlie  here  has  had  some  talk  with 
me,  but  I  want  to  get  your  ide's." 

"Our  brightest  idea,  I  think,"  said  the  leader, 
with  a  smile,  "is  to  get  your  help." 

Uncle  Bobbie  laughed  heartily.  "I  reckoned  you'd 
be  around,"  he  said.  "I'm  generally  kept  posted  by 
the  young  folks  when  there's  anything  to  do.  To-be- 
sure,  I  aint  got  much  education,  'cept  in  money  mat- 
ters an'  real  estate,  but  I  don't  know — I  reckon  edu- 
cation is  only  the  trimmings  anyhow.  It's  the  hoss 
sense  what  counts.  I've  seen  some  college  fellers  that 
was  just  like  the  pies  a  stingy  old  landlady  of  mine 
used  t'  make ;  they  was  all  outside — To-be-sure,  they 


199 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

looked  mighty  nice  though.  Now  tell  me  what  ye 
want." 

When  the  young  people  had  detailed  to  him  Dick's 
plan,  and  he  had  questioned  them  on  some  points, 
the  old  gentleman  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
thoughtfully  stroked  his  face.  Then — "ISTow  I  tell 
ye  what  ye  do.  Mebbe  I  can  handle  the  property  end 
of  this  a  little  the  best.  To-be-sure,  folks  would  talk 
with  me  when  they  might  not  listen  to  you;  'cause 
they'd  be  watchin'  f  er  a  chance  to  get  me  into  a  deal, 
you  see;  fer  business  is  a  sort  of  ketch-as-ketch-can 
anyhow  you  fix  it.  So  jes'  let  me  work  that  end  an' 
ye  get  Charlie  here  and  some  more  to  help,  and  drum 
up  the  store-keepers  to  find  out  if  they'll  let  ye  have 
their  barrels  and  boxes.  An'  then  go  fer  the  citizens 
and  see  how  many  will  buy  kindlin'-wood.  Tell  'em 
about  what  it  will  cost — say  ten  cents  a  week  fer  one 
stove.  To-be-sure,  some  will  use  more'n  others,  but 
give  'em  an  ide'.  Then  we'll  all  come  together  again 
and  swap  reports,  an'  see  what  we've  got." 

For  the  next  few  days,  the  young  people  went  from 
store  to  store,  and  house  to  house,  telling  their  plan, 
and  asking  the  citizens  to  support  it  by  their  patron- 
age. Some  turned  them  away  with  rudeness;  some 
listened  and  smiled  at  their  childish  folly ;  some  said 
they  couldn't  afford  it;  and  some  gave  them  encour- 
agement by  entering  heartily  into  the  scheme.  With 
but  few  exceptions,  the  merchants  promised  the 

200 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

greater  part  of  their  boxes  and  barrels,  and  one  man 
even  gave  them  the  ruins  of  an  old  cow  shed,  which 
he  said  he  would  be  glad  to  have  cleared  away. 

Meanwhile,  Uncle  Bobbie  interviewed  the  business 
men,  members  of  the  church,  and  those  who  were  not 
Christians.  He  argued,  threatened  and  plead, 
studied  plans,  consulted  architects  and  contractors, 
figured  and  schemed,  and,  when  besieged  by  the 
young  people  for  results,  only  shook  his  head.  "Jes' 
hold  your  bosses  and  wait  till  the  meetin'.  It  don't 
pay  to  fire  a  gun  before  ye  load  it."  And  none  but 
Charlie  Bowen  noticed  that  the  old  gentleman's  face 
grew  grim  whenever  the  subject  was  introduced,  and 
the  young  man  guessed  that  the  outlook  was  not  so 
promising  as  Uncle  Bobbie  would  like.  Then  one 
Wednesday  night,  the  Society  met  again  in  the 
church.  The  weather  was  cold  and  stormy,  but,  as  at 
the  previous  meeting,  nearly  every  member  was  pres- 
ent. When  the  committee  had  made  their  report  and 
it  was  known  that  the  merchants  and  citizens  would 
support  the  movement  by  their  patronage  and  con- 
tributions, a  wave  of  enthusiasm  swept  over  the  room 
while  the  call  for  Mr.  Wicks  was  enforced  by  loud 
applause. 

Uncle  Bobbie,  who  had  been  sitting  by  Rev.  Cam- 
eron's side,  arose  and  came  slowly  forward.  Turning, 
he  faced  the  little  company  and  his  honest  old  eyes 
were  wet  as  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice :  "I  didn't 

201 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

want  to  come  here  tonight,  young  folks;  I  jes'  tell 
ye  I  was  ashamed  to  come;  but  I  knew  I  ought  to; 
and  now  I  am  ashamed  that  I  didn't  want  to.  I 
might  have  known  better.  Fer  I  can  see  right  now 
as  I  look  into  your  faces,  that  Brother  Cameron  is 
right,  and  that  what  I  have  to  tell  won't  make  no 
difference."  An  ominous  hush  fell  upon  the  com- 
pany. "To-be-sure,  we  may  have  to  wait  a  bit,  but 
God  will  show  a  way,  and  we'll  conquer  this  old  devil 
of  indifference  yet."  He  paused  and  drew  a  long 
breath.  "Well,  I  found  a  big  house  that  is  for  sale ; 
jes'  the  thing  we  need;  and  it  could  be  bought  and 
fixed  up  in  first-class  shape  fer  about  nine  hundred 
dollars.  I  sold  the  property  myself  to  Mr.  Udell,  fer 
fifteen  hundred,  'bout  a  year  ago ;  an'  I  want  to  tell 
you  young  folks,  right  now,  that  whether  he's  a  Chris- 
tian er  not,  George  Udell  is  the  whitest  man  in  this 
city,  and  the  fellow  what  says  anythin'  again  him's 
got  me  to  whip."  The  old  gentleman  paused  and 
glared  about  him,  without  a  thought  of  how  his  words 
sounded;  but  the  young  people,  who  knew  him  well, 
only  answered  with  a  clapping  of  hands,  which  was  a 
tribute  to  Uncle  Bobbie's  heart  and  character,  rather 
than  to  his  unconscious  recklessness  of  speech  or  love 
for  the  man  whom  he  championed.  But  when  he  went 
on  to  say  that  of  all  the  men  he  had  interviewed, 
church  members  and  all,  only  Udell  had  met  him 
half  way,  and  had  agreed  to  give  the  lot  if  they 

202 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

raise  the  money  to  pay  for  the  house,  they  applauded 
•with  a  vim,  the  generosity  of  the  printer. 

"Just  think,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie,  "that  among  all 
the  church  members  in  this  city,  I  couldn't  raise  two 
hundred  dollars  fer  such  a  cause.  One  of  'em  said 
no,  because  he'd  jes'  bought  a  new  span  of  carriage 
bosses.  Huh !  I  told  him  he  might  ride  to  Hell  behind 
fine  bosses  but  he'd  not  feel  any  better  when  he  got 
there.  'Nother  said  he'd  jes'  put  five  hundred  dol- 
lars into  the  new  lodge  temple,  and  that  he  couldn't 
spend  any  more.  I  asked  him  if  Jesus  was  a  member 
of  his  lodge,  and  he  said  he  reckoned  not.  I  said, 
Well,  we  want  to  build  a  home  for  Christ,  and  you  say 
you  can't.  Seems  to  me  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  call 
Christ  my  redeemer  in  prayer  meeting  so  much. 
'Mother  had  just  fixed  his  home.  'IsTother  had  just 
put  in  a  new  stock  of  goods ;  and  so  with  'em  all.  They 
all  had  some  excuse  handy,  and  I  don't  know  what 
to  do.  I'm  up  a  stump  this  time  fer  sure.  We've 
got  the  material  to  work  up ;  we've  got  the  people  to 
buy  the  goods;  we've  got  the  lot;  and  there  we're 
stuck,  fer  we  can't  get  the  house.  I  can't  anyway. 
We're  jes'  like  the  feller  that  went  fishin';  had  a 
big  basket  to  carry  home  his  fish;  a  nice  new  jointed 
pole  with  a  reel  and  fixin's,  a  good  strong  linen  line, 
an'  a  nice  bait  box  full  of  big  fat  worms,  an'  when 
he  got  to  the  river  he  didn't  have  no  hook,  and  the 
fish  just  swum  'round  under  his  nose  an'  laughed  at 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

him  'cause  he  couldn't  touch  'em — and  still  I  believe 
that  God  will  show  us  the  way  yet,  'though  mebbe  not. 
Perhaps  taint  f  er  the  best  f  er  us  to  do  this ;  to-be-sure 
though  I  thought  it  was,  and  so  did  Brother  Cam- 
''eron ;  and  so  did  you.  But  I  don't  know — "  And  the 
old  man  took  his  seat. 

After  a  long  silence,  one  or  two  offered  suggestions 
but  could  not  help  matters.  Rev.  Cameron  was  called 
for  and  tried  to  speak  encouragingly,  but  it  was  hard 
work,  and  it  seemed  that  the  plans  were  coming 
to  an  inglorious  end,  when  Clara  Wilson  sprang  to 
her  feet. 

"I'm  not  a  bit  surprised  at  this,"  she  said,  while 
the  young  people,  forgetting  the  praise  they  had  just 
bestowed  upon  George  Udell,  thought  that  her  rosy 
cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  were  caused  by  her  excite- 
ment. "I  don't  wonder  that  the  business  men  won't 
go  into  such  a  scheme.  They  haven't  any  faith  in  it. 
It  isn't  so  much  that  they've  not  got  the  money  or 
don't  want  to  help,  but  it's  because  they  don't  trust 
the  church.  They  have  seen  so  many  things  started, 
and  have  supported  so  many,  and  still  no  real  good 
comes  of  it,  that  they're  all  afraid.  They  put  money 
into  their  lodges  because  they  see  the  results  there. 
I  believe  there  has  been  more  wealth  put  into  the 
churches  than  has  ever  been  put  into  lodges ;  but  all 
we've  got  to  show  for  it  is  fine  organs,  fine  windows, 
and  fine  talk,  while  the  lodges  do  practical  work.  We 

204 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

can't  expect  folks  to  take  hold  of  our  plan  until  we 
show  what  we  are  going  to  do.  We  are  starting  at  the 
wrong  end.  We  haven't  done  anything  ourselves  yet. 
[  wish  I  was  a  man,  I'd  show  you/'  with  a  snap  of  her 
black  eyes. 

"Yo're  a  pretty  good  feller  if  you  ain't  a  man," 
chuckled  Uncle  Bobbie.  This  raised  a  laugh  and 
made  them  all  feel  better. 

"That's  all  right ;  you  can  laugh  if  you  want  to," 
said  Clara,  "  but  I  tell  you  we  can  do  it  if  we  have 
a  mind  to.  Why,  there  is  enough  jewelry  here  to- 
night to  raise  more  than  half  the  amount.  Let's  not 
give  up  now  that  we've  gone  so  far.  Let's  have  a  big 
meeting  of  the  Society,  and  have  speeches,  and  tell 
what  has  been  done,  and  see  what  we  can  raise.  Just 
make  the  people  believe  we  are  going  to  have  this 
thing  anyway.  Mr.  President,  I  move  you  that  we 
have  an  open  meeting  of  the  Society  one  week  from 
next  Sunday,  and  that  a  special  committee  be  ap- 
pointed to  work  up  a  good  program." 

Cameron  jumped  to  his  feet.  "With  all  my  heart, 
I  second  that  motion."  And  before  the  president 
could  speak,  a  storm  of  Ayes  was  followed  by  pro- 
longed applause.  Clara  was  promptly  named  chair- 
man of  the  committee,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were 
trooping  from  the  building,  out  into  the  storm,  but 
with  warm  hearts  and  merry  voices. 


205 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

George  Udell  had  not  been  to  call  on  Miss  Wilson 
since  the  night  he  found  the  man  frozen  in  the  streets. 
Indeed,  he  had  not  even  spoken  to  her  since  the 
funeral.  He  had  seen  her  though,  once  when  she  had 
met  him  on  the  street  with  several  friends,  and 
several  times  when  he  had  glanced  up  from  his  work 
by  the  window  as  she  had  passed  the  office.  All  this 
was  strange  to  Clara.  What  could  be  the  matter? 
George  had  never  acted  so  before.  She  wanted  to  talk 
to  him  about  the  incident  of  that  stormy  night  when 
they  had  parted  so  abruptly.  She  wanted  him  to 
know  how  proud  she  was  that  he  had  proven  so  kind 
in  the  matter  of  the  funeral.  "What  a  warm  heart  he 
has  beneath  all  his  harsh  speeches,"  she  thought ;  and 
could  not  help  but  contrast  him,  much  to  his  credit, 
with  many  professed  Christians  she  knew.  And 
then,  Mr.  Wicks  had  spoken,  in  the  business  meeting, 
of  his  generosity,  and  had  talked  so  strongly  of  his 
goodness;  no  wonder  her  cheeks  burned  with  pride, 
while  her  heart  whispered  strange  things. 

When  the  young  woman  had  said  Good-night  to  her 
companions,  after  the  meeting,  and  had  shut  herself 
in  her  room,  she  asked  again  and  again,  was  she  right 
in  always  saying  N"o?  Was  she  not  unnecessarily 
cruel  to  the  friend  who  had  shown,  and  was  showing 
himself,  so  worthy  of  her  love  ?  Oh  why  was  he  not 
a  Christian  ?  And  when  Mrs.  Wilson  crept  into  her 
daughter's  room  that  night,  to  get  an  extra  comfort 

206 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

from  the  closet,  to  put  over  the  little  boy's  crib,  she 
was  much  surprised  to  see  a  big  tear,  that  glistened 
in  the  light  of  the  lamp,  roll  from  beneath  the  dark 
lashes,  as  her  eldest  child  lay  sobbing  in  her  sleep. 

The  next  morning  the  girl  was  s  rangely  silent  and 
went  about  her  work  without  the  u  "*<Ji  cheery  whis- 
tle— for  Clara  would  whistle ;  it  was  her  only  musical 
accomplishment.  But  toward  noon,  after  arousing 
from  a  prolonged  spell  of  silent  staring  if  to  the  fire, 
during  whieh  her  mother  tried  in  van  to  draw  her 
into  conversation,  she  suddenlv  became  her  own 
bright  self  again,  and  went  alout  getting  dinner  in 
her  usual  manner.  Thor  when  the  dishes  were 
washed,  she  appeared  in  1'er  street  dress  and  hat. 

"Land  sakes  alive,  child,  you  aint  going  out  to-day, 
be  you?"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
in  her  usual  attitude  of  amazement  or  wrath. 

"Yes  mother,  I've  got  a  little  business  down-town 
that  I  can't  put  off.  I  won't  be  gono  long.  Is  there 
anything  that  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

"But  look  how  it's  snowing ;  you'll  be  wet  through 
and  catch  your  death  sure.  I  wish  to  goodness  you'd 
have  more  sense  and  try  to  take  some  care  of  your- 
self." 

"Not  the  first  time  I've  been  wet.  The  walk  will 
do  me  good."  And  soon  the  determined  young  lady 
was  pushing  her  way  through  the  snow  and  wind 
foward  the  business  part  of  the  city. 

207 


The  boy  in  the  printing  office  had  gone  out  on  an 
errand  and  George  and  Dick  were  both  at  the  com- 
posing case,  setting  up  a  local  politician's  speech, 
which  was  to  be  issued  in  the  form  of  a  circular,  when 
Clara  walked  in,  stamping  her  feet  and  shaking  the 
snow  from  her  umbrella  and  skirt.  Udell  started 
forward. 

"Great  shade  of  the  immortal  Benjamin  F!"  he 
shouted.  "What  in  the  name  of  all  that's  decent  are 
you  doing  hero  ?"  And  he  placed  a  chair  near  the 
stove  with  one  hand  as  he  captured  the  umbrella  with 
the  other. 

"I'm  going  to  get  waini  just  now,"  Clara  replied, 
with  an  odd  little  laugh,  and  Dick  noticed  that  the 
wind,  or  cold,  or  something,  had  made  her  face  very 
red.  "Come  here  and  sit  down,"  she  commanded. 
"I  want  to  talk  business  to  you.  Don't  stand  there  as 
though  you  had  never  seen  me  before." 

"Well,  it  has  been  ages  since  I  saw  you,"  he  de- 
clared, seating  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  waste-box. 

"Yes,  all  of  twenty-four  hours.  I  passed  you  yes- 
terday and  you  looked  me  right  in  the  face,  and  never 
even  said  'Howdy.'  If  you  were  anyone  else,  George 
Udell,  I'd  make  you  wait  awhile  before  you  got  an- 
other chance  to  do  me  that  way." 

George  drummed  on  the  edge  of  the  box  and  whis- 
tled softly.  Then  looking  anxiously  tOTrwd  Dick, 


208 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

said:  "How  are  you  getting  along  with  that  stuff, 
old  man  ?" 

"Almost  through,"  answered  Dick,  with  a  never- 
to-be-forgotten  wink.  "But  I  believe  I'll  run  off  those 
dodgers  on  the  big  press,  and  let  you  finish  the  poli- 
tics." 

"All  right,  I  reckon  that'll  be  better,"  answered 
Udell ;  and  soon  the  whir  of  the  motor,  and  the  stamp 
of  the  press  filled  the  room. 

"We  are  awfully  busy  now,"  said  Udell,  turning 
to  Clara  again.  "I  ought  to  be  at  work  this  minute." 

"Why  haven't  you  been  to  see  me,  George  ?"  per- 
sisted the  girl,  a  strange  light  coming  into  her  eyes. 
"There  are  so  many  things  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about." 

"Thought  I'd  let  you  come  and  see  me  awhile ;  turn 
about  is  fair  play.  Besides,  I  don't  think  it  would 
be  safe  in  this  cold  weather.  It's  chilly  enough  busi- 
ness even  in  the  summer  time." 

Clara  held  out  manfully — or — womanly — "George 
Udell ;  you  knew  very  well  that  I  would  come  here  if 
you  staid  away  from  my  home;  and  it's  real  mean 
of  you,  when  you  knew  how  bad  I  wanted  to  see  you, 
to  make  me  come  out  in  all  this  snow." 

George  looked  troubled.  "I'll  take  my  death  of 
cold,  and  then  how'll  you  feel  ? — "  George  looked  still 
more  worried — "I've  not  felt  very  well  lately  any- 
way— "  George  looked  frightened ;  "and  I — came  all 

209 


THAT  PKDTTER  OF  UDELL'S 

the  way — down  here — just  to  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter." The  printer  looked  happy.  "And  now  you 
don't  want  me  to  stay,  and  I'll  go  home  again."  She 
moved  toward  her  umbrella,  Udell  got  it  first.  Whir 
— Whir — went  the  motor,  and  clank — clank — clank 
— sounded  the  press.  Dick  was  feeding  the  machine 
and  must  necessarily  keep  his  eyes  on  his  work,  while 
the  noise  prevented  any  stray  bits  of  the  conversation 
from  reaching  his  ears.  Besides  this,  Dick  was  just 
now  full  of  sympathy.  Clara  let  go  her  end  of  the 
umbrella,  and  George,  with  an  exaggerated  expression 
of  rapture  on  his  face,  kissed  the  place  where  her 
hand  had  held  it.  The  young  lady  tried  to  frown 
and  look  disgusted.  Then  for  several  moments  neither 
spoke.  At  last  Clara  said,  "I  wanted  to  tell  you  how 
proud  and  glad  I  am  of  the  things  you  have  been 
doing.  You  are  a  good  man,  George,  to  take  care  of 
that  poor  dead  boy  the  way  you  did." 

"Why,  you  see  I  had  a  sort  of  fellow-feeling  for 
him,"  muttered  the  printer.  "I  had  just  been  frosted 
myself." 

"And  that  Young  People's  Society  business,  it  is 
just  grand,"  went  on  Clara.  "Only  think,  you  have 
given  more  than  all  the  church  members  even." 

Udell  grunted,  "~No  danger  of  me  losing  on  that 
offer.  They'll  never  raise  the  rest." 

"Oh  yes  we  will.    I'm  chairman  of  the  committee." 


210 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

And  then  she  told  him  of  the  meeting,  and  how  Uncle 
Bobbie  had  praised  him. 

Udell  felt  his  heart  thaw  rapidly,  and  the  two 
chatted  away  as  though  no  chilly  blast  had  ever  come 
between  them. 

"And  yet,  Clara,  with  all  your  professed  love  for 
me,  you  won't  allow  me  a  single  privilege  of  a  lover, 
and  I  can  have  no  hope  of  the  future.  It  had  better 
stop  now." 

"Very  well,  George;  it  can  stop  now  if  you  like; 
but  I  never  could  have  lived  without  talking  it  out 
with  you  and  telling  you  how  glad  I  am  for  your  gift 
to  the  Society." 

"Look  here,  don't  you  go  and  make  any  mistakes  on 
that  line.  I'm  giving  nothing  to  the  Society  or  the 
church.  That  bit  of  land  goes  to  the  poor,  cold, 
hungry  fellows,  who  are  down  on  their  luck,  like 
Dick  here  was.  I  tell  you  what  though,  Clara,  if 
you'll  say  yes,  I'll  add  the  house  and  enough  to  fur- 
nish it  besides." 

The  girl  hesitated  for  just  a  moment.  Here  was 
temptation  added  to  temptation.  Then  she  pulled  on 
her  rubbers  and  rose  to  go.  "No,  George,  No,  I  can- 
not. You  know  you  would  not  need  to  buy  me  if  I 
felt  it  right  to  say  yes." 

"But  I'm  going  to  keep  on  asking  you  just  the 
same,"  said  George.  "You  won't  get  angry  if  I  keep 
it  up,  will  you  ?" 

211 


I  THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"I — guess — not.  I  feel  rather  badly  when  you 
don't.  I  don't  like  to  say  no ;  but  I  would  feel  awful 
if  you  didn't  give  me  a  chance  to  say  it.  Good-bye 
George. " 

"Good-bye  dearest.  You  can't  forbid  me  loving 
you  anyway,  and  some  day  you'll  take  me  for  what  I 
am." 

Clara  shook  her  head.    "You  know,"  she  said. 

As  the  door  closed,  Dick  wheeled  around  from  the 
press,  holding  out  his  ink-stained  hand  to  George. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  said  the  other  wonderingly, 
but  grasping  the  outstretched  hand  of  his  helper. 

"I  want  to  shake  hands  with  a  man,  that's  all," 
said  Dick.  "Why  don't  you  join  the  church  and  win 
her?" 

"Because  if  I  did  that  I  wouldn't  be  worthy  of 
her,"  said  George. 

"You  have  strange  ideas  for  this  day  and  age." 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  I  can't  help  it;  wish  I  could.*' 

"You're  a  better  man  than  half  the  church  mem- 
bers." 

George  shook  his  head.  "It  won't  do,  Dickie,  and 
you  know  it  as  well  as  I.  That's  too  big  a  thing  to 
go  into  for  anything  but  itself.  What  is  it  mother 
used  to  say  ?  No  other  Gods  before  me,  or  something 
like  that." 

And  Dick  said  to  himself  as  he  turned  back  to 
the  press,  "I  have  indeed,  shaken  hands  with  a  man." 

212 


CHAPTER  XIV, 


I  HE  night  was  at  hand  when  the  young  peo- 
ple were  to  hold  their  special  meeting  in 
the  interest  of  the  new  movement.  Clara 
Wilson  had  worked  incessantly,  and  when  at  last  the 
evening  arrived,  was  calm  and  well  satisfied.  Whether 
the  effort  proved  a  success  or  not,  she  would  be  con- 
tent, for  she  had  done  her  best. 

The  incident  of  the  man  found  frozen  to  death  on 
the  steps  of  the  church,  still  so  fresh  in  the  minds  of 
the  citizens,  the  flying  rumors  about  Dick's  visit  to 
the  Society,  and  the  plans  of  the  young  people,  all 
served  to  arouse  public  curiosity  to  such  a  pitch 
that  the  place  of  meeting  was  crowded,  many  even 
standing  in  the  rear  of  the  room.  After  the  opening 
services,  which  were  very  impressive  but  short,  and 
the  purpose  of  the  Society  and  the  proposed  plan  of 
work  had  been  fully  explained,  Uncle  Bobbie  told,  in 
his  simple  way,  of  the  work  that  had  been  done ;  how 
the  young  people  had  called  on  him;  how  they  had 
gone  from  house  to  house,  through  the  cold  and  snow ; 
and  how  he  had  interviewed  the  business  men,  many 

215 


THAT  PKINTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

of  whom  he  saw  in  the  audience.  "To-be-sure,"  he 
said,  "I  don't  suppose  you  understood  the  matter 
fully  or  you  would  have  been  glad  to  help ;  but  we'll 
give  ye  another  chance  in  a  minute."  Thsn  he  told 
of  the  last  business  meeting;  how  they  were  encour- 
aged when  the  reports  came  in  that  the  citizens  had 
responded  so  liberally;  and  how  he  had  been  forced 
to  tell  them  that  he  had  met  with  nothing  but  failure 
in  his  attempt  to  secure  a  house.  "I  just  tell  you,  it 
made  my  old  heart  ache  to  see  them  young  folks  tryin* 
to  do  some  practical  work  for  Christ,  come  up  agin 
a  stump  like  that.  I  wish  you  church  members  could 
have  seen  'em  and  heard  'em  pray.  I  tell  you  it  was 
like  Heaven;  that's  what  it  was;  with  the  angels 
weepin'  over  us  poor  sinners  'cause  we  won't  do  our 
duty." 

The  old  gentleman  finished,  amid  a  silence  that  was 
almost  painful,  while  many  were  leaning  eagerly 
forward  in  their  seats.  The  great  audience  was  im- 
pressed by  the  scheme  and  work  so  practical  and 
Christ-like.  This  was  no  theory,  no  doctrine  of 
men,  no  dogma  of  a  denomination. 

The  pastor  of  the  Jerusalem  Church  stepped  to  the 
front  of  the  rostrum  and  raised  his  band.  Without 
a  word  the  people  reverently  bowed  their  heads. 
After  a  moment  of  silent  prayer,  the  minister  voiced 
the  unuttered  words  of  all,  in  a  few  short  sentences : 
"God  help  us  to  help  others,"  and  then  in  clear,  ear- 

216 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

nest  tones  began  to  speak.  He  recalled  to  their  minds 
the  Saviour  of  men,  as  he  walked  and  talked  in  Gali- 
lee. He  pictured  the  Christ  feeding  the  hungry  and 
healing  the  sick.  He  made  them  hear  again  the  voice 
that  spake  as  never  man  spake  before,  giving  forth 
that  wonderful  sermon  on  the  mount,  and  pronounc- 
ing his  blessing  on  the  poor  and  merciful.  Again 
the  audience  stood  with  the  Master  when  he  wept  at 
the  grave  of  Lazarus,  and  with  him  sat  at  the  last 
supper,  when  he  introduced  the  simple  memorial  of 
his  death  and  love.  Then  walking  with  him  across 
the  brook  Kedron,  they  entered  the  shadows  of  the 
Olive  trees  and  heard  the  Saviour  pray  while  his  dis- 
ciples slept.  "If  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass 
from  me.  Nevertheless,  not  my  will,  but  thine 
be  done."  And  then  they  stood  with  the  Jewish 
mob,  clamoring  for  his  blood;  and  later  with  the 
Roman  soldiery,  grouped  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
where  hung  the  brother  of  men,  and  heard  that 
wonderful  testimony  of  his  undying  love.  "Father 
'forgive  them,  they  know  not  what  they  do."  Then 
under  the  spell  of  Cameron's  speech,  they  looked 
into  the  empty  tomb  and  felt  their  hearts  throl 
(in  ecstasy,  as  the  full  meaning  of  that  silent  vault 
burst  upon  them.  Looking  up  they  saw  their 
risen  Lord  seated  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father, 
glorified  with  the  glory  that  was  his  in 
the  beginning;  and  then,  then,  they  looked 

217 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

where  the  Master  pointed,  to  the  starving, 
shivering,  naked  ones  of  earth,  and  heard  with  new 
understanding,  those  oft  repeated  words,  "Inasmuch 
as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  did  it 
unto  me."  "Men  and  brethren,"  cried  the  pastor, 
stretching  out  his  arms  in  the  earnestness  of  his  ap- 
peal, "what  shall  we  do  ?  Shall  there  be  no  place  in 
all  this  city  where  the  least  of  these  may  find  help 
in  the  name  of  our  common  Master  ?  Must  our  broth- 
ers perish  with  cold  and  hunger  because  we  close  the 
doors  of  the  Saviour's  church  against  them  ?  These 
young  people,  led  by  a  deep  desire  to  do  God's  will, 
have  gone  as  far  as  they  can  alone.  Their  plan  has 
been  carefully  studied  by  good  business  men  and  pro- 
nounced practical  in  every  way.  They  have  the  prom- 
ised support  of  the  merchants  in  supplying  material. 
They  have  the  promised  patronage  of  the  citizens ;  and 
a  man,  not  a  professed  Christian,  but  with  a  heart 
that  feels  for  suffering  humanity  has  given  the  land. 
In  the  name  of  Jesus,  to  help  the  least  of  these,  won't 
you  buy  the  house  ?" 

The  deacons,  with  the  baskets  and  paper  and  pen- 
cils, started  through  the  congregation.  In  a  moment 
Mr.  Godfrey  went  back  to  Cameron  and  placed  some-, 
thing  in  his  hand.  The  pastor,  after  listening  a 
moment  to  the  whispered  words  of  his  officer,  turned 
to  the  audience  and  said :  "At  our  last  meeting,  one 
of  the  young  people  made  the  remark  that  there  were 

218 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

jewels  enough  on  the  persons  of  those  present  to  pay 
half  the  amount  needed.  Brother  Godfrey  has  just 
handed  me  this  diamond  ring,  worth  I  should  say, 
between  forty  and  fifty  dollars.  It  was  dropped  into 
the  basket  by  a  member  of  the  Young  People's  So- 
ciety. Friends,  do  you  need  any  more  proof  that 
these  young  folks  are  in  earnest  ?" 

At  last  the  offering  was  taken,  and  the  deacons 
reported  one  thousand  dollars  in  cash,  and  pledges, 
payable  at  once.  "And  perhaps,"  said  the  leader, 
"I  ought  to  say,  in  jewelry  also."  And  he  held  up  to 
the  gaze  of  the  audience  a  handful  of  finger  rings, 
scarf-pins,  ear-rings  and  ornaments,  and  a  gold  watch, 
in  the  case  of  which  was  set  a  tiny  diamond. 

Again  for  a  moment  a  deep  hush  fell  over  the  vast 
congregation  as  they  sat  awed  by  this  evidence  of 
earnestness.  Then  the  minister  raised  his  voice  in 
prayer  that  God  would  bless  the  offering  and  use  it  in 
his  service,  and  the  audience  was  dismissed. 

Dick  did  not  sleep  well  that  night.  Something 
Cameron  had  said  in  his  talk,  together  with  the  re- 
markable gifts  of  the  young  people,  had  impressed 
him.  He  had  gone  to  the  church  more  from  curiosity 
than  anything,  and  had  come  away  with  a  feeling  of 
respect  for  Christians,  that  was  new  to  him.  As  he 
thought  of  the  jewelry,  given  without  the  display 
of  name  or  show  of  hands,  he  said  to  himself,  "Sure- 
ly these  people  are  in  earnest."  Tken,  too,  under  the 

219 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

spell  of  Cameron's  talk,  he  saw  always  before  him, 
the  figure  of  the  Christ  as  he  lived  his  life  of  sacri- 
fice and  love,  and  heard  him  command,  "Follow 
thou  me."  In  the  meantime  at  the  church  he  had 
Been  people  doing  just  that,  following  Him ;  doing  as 
He  did ;  and  the  whole  thing  impressed  him  as  noth- 
ing had  ever  done  before.  So,  when  he  went  to  the 
office  next  morning  and  found  Udell  strangely  silent 
and  apparently  in  a  brown  study,  he  was  not  at  all 
surprised,  and  asked,  "What's  the  matter,  George  ? 
Didn't  you  sleep  well  last  night  either  ?  Or  did  the 
thoughts  of  having  been  so  generous  with  your  prop- 
erty keep  you  awake  ?" 

"The  property  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  it,"  an- 
swered Udell.  "It's  what  that  preacher  said ;  and  not 
so  much  that  either,  I  guess,  as  what  those  young 
folks  did.  I've  been  thinking  about  that  handful  of 
jewelry ;  if  I  hadn't  seen  it  I  wouldn't  have  believed 
it.  Say,  do  you  know  that  a  few  sermons  like  those 
gold  trinkets  would  do  more  to  convert  the  world 
than  all  the  theological  seminaries  that  ever  bewil- 
dered the  brains  of  poor  preachers  ?" 

"Right  you  are,  George,  but  is  it  true  ?" 

"Is  what  true  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"Why,  what  Cameron  said  about  Christ  being  the 
Saviour  of  men,  and  all  that." 

The  printer  paused  in  his  work.     "What  do  you 


220 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Kay  ?"  he  asked  as  last,  without  answering  Dick's  ques- 
tion. 

"Well,"  answered  Dick  slowly,  "I've  tried  hard 
for  several  years,  to  make  an  infidel  of  myself,  be- 
cause I  couldn't  stand  the  professions  of  the  church, 
and  their  way  of  doing  things.  But  that  meeting 
last  night  was  different,  and  I  was  forced  to  the 
conclusion,  in  spite  of  myself,  that  Cameron  spoke 
the  truth,  and  that  Christ  is  what  he  claimed  to  be, 
the  Saviour  of  mankind,  in  the  truest,  fullest  sense 
of  the  word.  I'm  sure  of  this.  I  have  always  wished 
that  it  were  true,  and  have  always  believed  that  the 
Christian  life,  as  Christ  taught  it,  would  be  the  hap- 
piest life  on  earth.  But  there's  the  rub.  Where  can 
a  fellow  go  to  live  the  life,  and  why  are  you  and  I 
not  living  it  as  well  as  the  people  who  have  their 
names  on  the  church  books  ?  Must  I  join  a  company 
of  canting  hypocrites  in  order  to  get  to  Heaven  ?" 

"Seems  to  me  that  word  is  a  little  strong  for  those 
who  put  up  their  rings  and  stuff  last  night,"  said 
Udell;  "and  anyway,  I  know  one  in  the  crowd  who 
was  in  earnest." 

"You  are  right,  George,"  returned  Dick.  "I  spoke 
harshly.  I  know  there  are  earnest  ones  in  the  church, 
but  I  don't  see  how  they  stand  it.  But  you're  dodg- 
ing my  question.  Do  you  believe  in  Christ  as  the 
Saviour  of  men  ?" 

"Folks  say  that  I'm  an  infidel,"  answered  George. 
221 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"I  don't  care  what  folks  say,  I  want  to  know  what 
you  think  about  it." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  George.  "Sometimes,  when  I 
listen  to  the  preachers,  I  get  so  befuddled  and  mixed 
up  that  there's  nothing  but  a  big  pile  of  chaff,  with 
now  and  then  a  few  stray  grains  of  truth,  and  the  par- 
son keeps  the  air  so  full  of  the  dust  and  dirt  that  you'd 
rather  he  wouldn't  hunt  for  the  grain  of  truth  at  all. 
Then  I'm  an  infidel.  And  again  I  see  something  like 
that  last  night,  and  I  believe  it  must  be  true.  And 
then  I  think  of  Clara,  and  am  afraid  to  believe  be- 
cause I  fear  it's  the  girl  and  not  the  truth  I'm  after. 
You  see,  I  want  to  believe  so  bad  that  I'm  afraid  I'll 
make  myself  believe  what  I  don't  believe.  There, 
now  you  can  untangle  that  while  you  run  off  that 
batch  of  cards.  It's  half -past  eight  now  and  we  have 
not  done  a  blessed  thing  this  morning."  He  turned 
resolutely  to  his  task  of  setting  up  another  speech 
for  the  local  politician. 

"George,"  what  in  the  world  does  this  "mean?" 
asked  Dick,  about  two  hours  later,  holding  up  a 
proof  sheet  that  he  had  just  taken  from  the  form 
George  had  placed  on  the  stone,  and  reading :  "When 
Patrick  Henry  said,  Give  me  liberty  or  give  me 
Clara,  he  voiced  a  sentiment  of  every  American 
church  member." 

George  flushed.  "Guess  you'd  better  set  up  the  rest 
of  this  matter,"  he  said  gruffly.  "I'll  run  the  press 

222 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

awhile."  He  laid  down  his  stick  and  put  the  com- 
posing case  between  himself  and  Dick  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. 

"That  bloomin'  politician  must  be  crazy,"  said  the 
boy,  as  he  scrubbed  wearily  at  an  inky  roller,  with  a 
dirty  rag.  "Old  Pat.  Henry  never  said  no  such  stuff 
as  that,  did  he  George  ?" 

"You  dry  up,"  was  all  the  answer  he  received. 

All  that  week  and  the  week  following,  Dick's  mind 
fastened  itself  upon  the  proposition:  Jesus  Christ 
is  the  Son  of  God,  and  the  Saviour  of  men.  At  in- 
tervals during  working  hours  at  the  office,  he  argued 
the  question  with  Udell,  who  after  his  strange  ren- 
dering of  the  great  statesman's  famous  speech,  had 
relapsed  into  infidelity,  and  with  all  the  strength  of 
his  mind,  opposed  Dick  in  his  growing  belief.  The 
evenings  were  spent  with  Charlie  Bowen,  in  discuss- 
ing the  same  question.  And  here  it  was  Charlie  who 
assumed  the  affirmative  and  Dick  as  stoutly  cham- 
pioned Udell's  position.  At  last,  one  day  when  Dick 
had  driven  his  employer  into  a  corner,  the  latter 
ended  the  debate  forever,  by  saying  rather  sharply, 
"Well,  if  I  believed  as  you  do,  I'd  stand  before  men 
and  say  so.  Xo  matter  what  other  folks  believed,  did 
or  said,  if  a  man  was  so  good  as  to  give  me  all  the 
things  that  you  say  Christ  has  given  to  the  world,  I 
would  stand  by  him,  dead  or  alive.  And  I  don't  see 
why  you  can't  be  as  honest  with  Him  as  you  are  with 

223 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

men."  And  Charlie  clinched  the  matter  that  evening 
by  saying,  "Dick,  if  I  thought  you  really  believed 
your  own  arguments,  I  wouldn't  talk  with  you  five 
minutes,  for  the  doctrine  you  are  teaching  is  the  most 
hopeless  thing  on  earth.  But  I  can't  help  feeling  that 
if  you  would  be  as  honest  with  yourself  as  you  are 
with  others,  you  wouldn't  take  that  side  of  the  ques- 
tion. Suppose  you  preach  awhile  from  your  favorite,' 
Shakespeare,  taking  for  your  text,  'This  above  all, 
To  thine  own  self  be  true,  and  it  must  follow  as  the 
night  the  day.  Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any 
man.' ' 

There  were  no  more  arguments  after  that,  but  Dick 
went  over  in  his  mind  the  experience  of  the  past ;  how 
he  had  seen,  again  and  again,  professed  Christians 
proving  untrue  to  their  Christ.  He  looked  at  the 
church,  proud,  haughty,  cold,  standing  in  the  very 
midst  of  sin  and  suffering,  and  saying  only,  "I  am 
holier  than  thou."  He  remembered  his  first  evening 
in  Boyd  City,  and  his  reception  after  prayer-meeting, 
at  the  church  on  the  avenue,  and  his  whole  nature 
revolted  at  the  thought  of  becoming  one  of  them. 
Then  he  remembered  that  meeting  of  the  Young 
People  and  the  unmistakable  evidence  of  their  love, 
and  the  words  of  Uncle  Bobbie  Wicks  in  the  printing 
office  that  rainy  night:  "You'll  find  out,  same  as  I 
have,  that  it  don't  matter  how  much  the  other  fellow 
dabbles  in  the  dirt,  you've  got  to  keep  your  hands 

224 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

clean  anyway.  And  it  aint  the  question  whether  the 
other  fellow  is  mean  or  not,  but  am  I  living  square  ?" 

And  so  it  was,  that  when  he  went  to  church  Sunday 
evening,  his  heart  was  torn  with  conflicting  emotions, 
and  he  slipped  into  a  seat  in  the  rear  of  the  building, 
when  the  ushers  were  all  busy,  so  that  even  Charlie 
did  not  know  he  was  there.  Cameron's  sermon  was 
from  the  text,  "What  is  that  to  thee?  Follow  thou 
me."  And  as  he  went  on  with  his  sermon,  pointing 
out  the  evils  of  the  church,  saying  the  very  things 
that  Dick  had  said  to  himself  again  and  again,  but 
always  calling  the  mind  of  his  hearers  back  to  the 
words  of  Jesus,  ''What  is  that  to  thee  ?  Follow  thou 
me,"  Dick  felt  his  objections  vanish,  one  by  one,  and 
the  great  truth  alone  remain.  The  minister  brought 
his  talk  to  a  close,  with  an  earnest  appeal  for  those 
who  recognized  the  evils  that  existed  in  the  church, 
because  it  was  not  following  Christ  as  closely  as  it 
ought,  to  come  and  help  right  the  wrongs,  Dick  arose, 
went  forward,  and  in  a  firm  voice,  answered  the  ques- 
tion put  by  the  minister,  thus  declaring  before  men 
his  belief  in  Christ  as  the  Son  of  God,  and  accepting 
Him  as  his  personal  Saviour. 

As  he  stood  there,  the  audience  was  forgotten.  The 
past,  with  all  its  mistakes  and  suffering,  its  doubt 
and  sin,  came  before  him  for  an  instant,  then  van- 
ished, and  his  heart  leaped  for  joy,  because  he  knew 
that  it  was  gone  forever.  And  the  future,  made 

225 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

beautiful  by  the  presence  of  Christ  and  the  convic- 
tion that  he  was  right  with  God,  stretched  away  as 
a  path  leading  ever  upward,  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
glories  of  the  life  to  come,  while  he  heard,  as  in  a 
dream,  the  words  of  his  confessed  Master,  "Follow 
thou  me." 


226 


CHAPTER  XV. 


JEORGE  was  busy  in  the  stock  room  getting 
out  some  paper  for  a  lot  of  circulars  that 
Dick  had  just  finished  setting  up,  when  the 
door  opened  and  Amy  Goodrich  entered.  "Good 
Morning,  Mr.  Falkner,"  as  Dick  left  his  work  and 
went  forward  to  greet  her.  "I  must  have  some  new 
calling  cards.  Can  you  get  them  ready  for  me  by 
two  o'clock  this  afternoon?  Mamma  and  I  had 
planned  to  make  some  calls  and  I  only  discovered 
last  night  that  I  was  out  of  cards.  You  have  the  plate 
here  in  the  office,  I  believe." 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "the  plate  is  here.  I  guess  we 
can  have  them  ready  for  you  by  that  time." 

"And  Mr.  Falkner,"  said  the  girl,  "I  want  to  tell 
you  how  glad  I  was  when  you  took  the  stand  you  did 
Sunday  night." 

Dick's  face  flushed  and  he  looked  at  her  keenly. 
"I  have  thought  for  a  long  time,  that  you  would  be- 
come a  Christian,  and  have  often  wondered  why  you 
waited.  The  church  needs  young  men  and  you  can 
do  so  much  good." 

229 


are  very  kind,"  said  Dick,  politely.  "I  am 
sure  that  your  interest  will  be  a  great  inspiration  to 
me,  and  I  shall  need  all  the  help  I  can  get.  In  fact, 
we  all  do,  I  guess." 

A  shadow  crossed  the  lovely  face,  and  a  mist  dim- 
med the  brightness  of  the  brown  eyes  for  a  moment 
before  she  replied.  "Yes,  we  do  need  help ;  all  of  us ; 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  aid  many.  Will  you  enter 
the  ministry  ?" 

"Enter  the  ministry,"  replied  Dick,  forgetting  his 
studied  coolness  of  manner.  "What  in  the  world 
suggested  that  ?  Do  I  look  like  a  preacher  ?" 

They  both  laughed  heartily. 

"Well  no,  I  can't  say  that  you  do.  At  least  I 
wouldn't  advise  you  to  go  into  the  pulpit  with  that 
apron  and  that  cap  on;  and  the  spot  of  ink  on  the 
end  of  your  nose  is  not  very  dignified." 

Dick  hastily  applied  his  handkerchief  to  the  spot, 
while  Amy,  like  a  true  woman,  stood  laughing  at  his 
confusion.  "But  seriously,"  she  added,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "I  was  not  joking.  I  do  think  you  could  do 
grand  work  if  you  were  to  enter  the  field.  Somehow, 
I  have  always  felt  that  you  exerted  a  powerful  influ- 
ence over  all  with  whom  you  came  in  touch.  Let  me 
make  a  prophecy;  you  will  yet  be  a  preacher  of  the 
Gospel." 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Dick,  "that  if  I  truly  camo  to  be- 
lieve it  to  be  my  work,  I  would  not  refuse.  But  that 

230 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

is  a  question  which  time  alone  can  answer.    Do  yon 
remember  the  first  time  we  met  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  the  girl  replied,  laughing  again. 
"It  was  right  here,  and  you  met  with  an  accident  at 
the  same  time." 

Dick's  face  grew  red  again.  "I  should  say  I  did," 
he  muttered.  "I  acted  like  a  frightened  fool." 

"Oh,  hut  you  redeemed  yourself  beautifully 
though.  I  have  one  of  those  little  books  yet.  I  shall 
always  keep  it;  and  when  you  get  to  be  a  famous 
preacher,  I'll  exhibit  my  treasure,  and  tell  how  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Richard  Falkner  sat  up  late  one  night  to 
design  the  cover  for  me,  when  he  was  only  a  poor 
printer." 

"Yes,"  retorted  Dick,  "and  I'll  tell  the  world  how 
I  went  to  my  first  church  social,  and  what  a  charming 
young  lady  I  met,  who  told  me  how  much  I  reminded 
her  of  someone  she  knew." 

It  was  Amy's  time  to  blush  now,  and  she  did  so  very 
prettily  as  she  hurriedly  said,  "Let's  change  the  sub- 
ject. I  ought  not  to  be  keeping  you  from  your  work. 
Mr.  Udell  will  be  asking  me  to  stay  away  from  the 
office." 

"Oh,  we're  not  rushed  today,"  said  Dick,  hastily, 
"and  I'll  make  up  all  lost  time." 

"So  you  consider  this  lost  time,  do  you  ?"  with  a 
quick  little  bow.  "Thank  you,  then  it's  surely  time 


231 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

for  me  to  go;"  and  she  turned  to  leave  the  room, 
but  Dick  checked  her. 

"Oh,  Miss  Goodrich,  you  know  I  did  not  mean 
that."  Something  in  his  voice  made  her  eyes  drop 
as  he  added,  "You  don't  know  how  much  I  enjoy 
talking  with  you;  not  that  I  have  had  many  such 
pleasures  though,  but  just  a  word  helps  me  more  than 
I  can  say."  He  stopped,  because  he  dare  not  go 
farther,  and  wondered  at  himself  that  he  had  said 
even  so  much. 

"Do  you  really  mean,  Mr.  Falkner,  that  you  care 
at  all  for  my  friendship  ?" 

"More  than  the  friendship  of  any  one  in  the 
world,"  he  replied,  earnestly. 

"Why?" 

Dick  was  startled  and  turned  away  his  head  lest 
his  eyes  reveal  too  much.  "Because,"  he  said  slowly, 
"your  friendship  is  good  for  me  and  makes  me  want 
to  do  great  things." 

"And  yet,  if  I  were  not  a  member  of  the  church 
you  would  not  think  that  way." 

"I  would  think  that  way,  no  matter  what  you 
were,"  said  Dick. 

"You  would  still  value  my  friendship  if  I  should 
do  some  awful  wicked  thing  ?"  she  asked.  "Suppose 
I  should  leave  the  church,  or  run  away,  or  steal,  or 
kill  somebody,  or  do  something  real  terrible  1" 

Dick  smiled  and  shook  his  head.     "Nothing  you 
232 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

could  ever  do  would  make  me  change.  But  tell  me," 
he  added;  "you're  not  thinking  of  giving  up  your 
church  work,  are  you  ?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  ?"  said  she  quickly. 

"You'll  pardon  me  won't  you,  if  I  tell  you.  I 
can't  help  noticing  that  you  are  not  so  much  at  the 
meetings  of  the  Society  as  you  were ;  and  that —  well 
— you  don't  seem — somehow — to  take  the  interest 
you  did.  And  you  have  given  up  your  class  at  the 
South  Broadway  Mission." 

"How  do  you  know  that  ?" 

"I  asked  Brother  Cameron  if  there  was  any  place 
for  me  out  there,  and  he  said,  yes,  that  your  class  was 
without  a  teacher  now." 

"So  you  are  to  have  my  boys  at  the  Mission.  Oh, 
I  am  so  glad."  And  her  eyes  filled.  "Don't  let  them 
forget  me  altogether,  Mr.  Falkner." 

"But  won't  you  come  back  and  teach  them  your- 
self?" 

"!No,  no ;  you  do  not  understand ;  I  must  give  it  up. 
But  you'll  do  better  than  I  anyway,  because  you  can 
get  closer  to  them.  You  understand  that  life  so 
well." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  very  soberly.  "I  do  understand 
that  life  very  well  indeed." 

"Oh,  forgive  me,  I  didn't  mean  to  pain  you."  She 
laid  her  hand  timidly  on  his  arm.  "I  admire  you 
BC  much  for  what  you  have  overcome,  and  that's  what 

233 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

makes  me  say  that  you  can  do  a  great  deal,  now  that 
you  are  through  with  it.  You  must  forget  those 
things  that  are  behind,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Dick,  "those  things  arc  behind, 
and  I  can  do  all  things  through  Him ;  but  may  I  also 
have  the  help  of  thinking  of  you  as  my  friend  ?" 

Amy  blushed  again.  "Please  notice,"  said  Dick, 
quietly,  "I  said  of  thinking  of  you  as  my  friend." 

The  girl  put  out  her  hand.  "Mr.  Falkner,  just  as 
long  as  you  wish,  you  may  think  of  me  as  your  friend. 
But  I  want  you  to  pray  for  me,  that  I  may  be  worthy 
your  friendship,  for  I  too,  have  my  battles  to  fight." 
And  she  smiled.  "Good-bye.  You  were  so  funny 
when  you  fell  off  the  stool  that  day,  but  I  like  you  bet- 
ter as  you  are  now."  Then  suddenly  the  room  grew 
dark  and  close,  and  as  Dick  turned  again  to  his  work, 
he  heard  a  voice  within  whispering,  "Only  in  your 
thoughts  can  she  be  your  friend." 

Adam  Goodrich  was  just  coming  out  of  the  express 
office,  which  was  in  the  same  block  as  the  printing 
establishment,  when  he  saw  his  daughter  leave  the 
building  and  cross  the  street.  All  that  day  the  inci- 
dent persisted  in  forcing  itself  upon  his  mind,  and 
that  night,  after  the  younger  members  of  the  family 
had  retired,  and  he  and  Mrs  Goodrich  were  aione, 
he  laid  aside  his  evening  paper  and  asked,  "What 
was  Amy  doing  at  Udell's  place  today  9" 


234 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"She  went  to  have  some  calling  cards  printed. 
Why,  what  made  you  ask  ?" 

''Oh  nothing.  I  saw  her  coming  from  the  build- 
ing, and  I  wondered  what  she  was  doing  there,  that's 
all."  He  picked  up  his  paper  again,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment laid  it  down  once  more.  "That  fellow  Falkner 
joined  the  church  last  Sunday  night." 

"So  Frank  told  me,"  answered  Mrs.  Goodrich.  "I 
do  wish  Rev.  Cameron  would  be  more  careful.  He 
gets  so  many  such  characters  into  the  church.  Why 
can't  he  keep  them  out  at  the  Mission  where  they  be- 
long, and  not  force  us  to  associate  with  them?" 

Mr.  Goodrich  spoke  again.  "I  suppose  he  will  be 
active  in  the  Young  People's  Society  now.  Does  Amy 
still  take  as  much  interest  there  as  she  did  ?" 

"Oh  no,  not  nearly  as  much  as  she  used  to.  I  have 
tried  to  show  her  that  it  was  not  her  place  to  mix  in 
that  kind  of  work,  and  she's  beginning  to  understand 
her  position,  and  to  see  that  she  can't  afford  to  lower 
herself  and  us,  by  running  after  such  people.  I 
don't  understand  where  she  gets  such  low  tastes." 

"She  don't  get  them  from  the  Goodrich's,  I'm 
3ure,"  answered  Adam.  "You  know  our  family  was 
never  guilty  of  anything  that  could  compromise  their 
standing  in  society." 

"Well,  she  will  outgrow  it  all  in  time,  I  am  sure.  I 
have  been  as  careful  in  her  training  as  I  could,  Mr. 
Goodrich.  It  is  a  hard  task  to  raise  girls,  and  make 

231 


them  understand  their  position  when  they're  Amy'a 
age ;  but  she's  taking  up  her  social  duties  again  now. 
We  are  to  make  some  calls  tomorrow,  and  Thursday 
night,  she  has  accepted  an  invitation  to  the  card  party 
at  Mrs.  Lansdown's ;  and  Mr.  Whitley  haa  called  fre- 
quently of  late.  I  have  great  hopes,  for  she  seema 
to  be  quite  interested  in  him." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Adam.  "Whitley  is  worth  while; 
he  is  of  a  good  family,  and  without  doubt,  the  rich- 
est man  in  Boyd  City.  It  would  be  a  great  thing  for 
us.  It's  time  he  was  thinking  about  a  wife  too.  He 
must  be  well  on  toward  forty." 

"Oh  dear  no ;  he  can't  be  more  than  thirty-five ;  he 
was  quite  young  when  he  went  abroad,  and  you  re- 
member that  was  only  five  years  ago." 

"Well,  well,  it's  no  matter ;  he's  young  enough.  But 
does  she  see  much  of  that  printer  of  Udell's  ?" 

"Why,  of  course  not ;  what  a  question.  She  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him." 

"But  she  has  met  him  at  the  socials  and  in  the  So- 
ciety. He  would  naturally  pose  as  a  sort  of  hero,  for 
he  was  the  one  who  suggested  that  fool  plan  that 
Cameron  is  working  on ;  and  now  that  he  has  joined 
the  church,  she  must  see  more  or  less  of  him.  I  tell 
you,  he's  a  sharp  fellow.  Look  how  he  has  been  quietly 
worming  himself  into  decent  society  since  he  got  hold 
of  that  reading  room.  There  is  no  knowing  what 


236 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

such  a  man  will  do,  and  Amy  naturally  would  be  a 
good  mark  for  him." 

"I'm  sure  I  am  doing  the  best  I  can/'  faltered  Mrs. 
Goodrich ;  "but  you'd  better  talk  to  her  yourself ;  with 
Mr.  Whitley  so  interested,  we  must  be  careful.  I  do 
wish  she  would  be  more  like  Frank.  He  has  never 
given  us  a  moment's  trouble." 

"Yes,"  said  the  father,  with  no  little  pride  manifest 
in  his  voice  and  manner.  "Frank  is  a  Goodrich 
through  and  through.  Amy  seems  to  take  more  after 
your  people." 

Mrs.  Goodrich  sighed.  "I'm  sorry,  but  I  don't 
see  how  I  can  help  it." 

The  next  day,  after  dinner,  Mr.  Goodrich  found 
his  daughter  alone  in  the  library,  where  she  had 
gone  with  a  bit  of  fancy  work,  which  girls  manage  to 
have  always  about  them.  "Frank  tells  me  that  Mr. 
Falkner  has  united  with  the  church,"  he  remarked, 
carelessly. 

"Yes,"  said  Amy,  "I  am  so  glad.  The  church 
needs  such  young  men,  I  think." 

"He  is  quite  a  shrewd  fellow,  isn't  he  ?"  continued 
her  father." 

"He's  very  intelligent,  I'm  sure.  You  know  it  was 
he  who  proposed  the  plan  for  our  new  institution,  and 
Mr.  Wicks  and  Brother  Cameron  think  it  is  very 
fine." 

"Does  he  use  good  language  in  his  conversation  ?" 
237 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Oh  yes  sir,  indeed.  He  is  a  very  interesting 
talker.  He  has  traveled  so  much,  and  read  almost 
everything.  I  tell  him  I  think  he  ought  to  preach." 

"Hum.     And  will  he,  do  you  think?" 

"He  said  he  would  if  he  were  convinced  it  was 
Jus  work." 

"Where  did  he  live  before  he  came  here  ?" 

"Oh,  he  has  lived  in  nearly  all  the  big  cities.  He 
was  in  Kansas  City  last." 

"And  what  did  his  father  do?" 

"His  mother  died  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  his 
father  drank  himself  to  death,  or  something.  He 
won't  talk  about  his  family  much.  He  did  say 
though,  that  his  father  was  a  mechanic.  I  believe 
that  he  tells  Mr.  Udell  more  about  his  past  than  any- 
one." 

"And  did  Udell  tell  you  all  this?" 

<rN"o,"  answered  Amy,  who  suddenly  saw  what  was 
coming. 

"How  do  you  know  so  much  about  him  then  ?" 

"He  told  me." 

"Indeed.  You  seem  to  be  on  very  good  terms  with 
this  hero.  How  long  were  you  at  the  printing  office 
yesterday?  I  saw  you  leaving  the  building." 

Amy  was  silent,  but  her  burning  cheeks  convinced 
her  father  that  he  had  cause  to  be  alarmed. 

"Did  you  talk  with  him  when  you  were  there  ?" 

''Yes  sir ;  he  waited  on  me." 
238 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"And  do  you  think  it  is  a  credit  to  your  family  to 
be  so  intimate  with  a  tramp  who  was  kicked  out  of 
my  place  of  business?" 

"Oh  father,  that  is  not  true — I  mean,  sir,  that  you 
do  not  understand — Mr.  Falkner  is  not  a  tramp.  He 
was  out  of  work  and  applied  to  you  for  a  place.  Surely 
that  is  not  dishonest.  And  that  he  wanted  to  work 
for  you  ought  not  to  be  used  against  him.  He  has 
never  in  any  way  shown  himself  anything  but  a  gen- 
tleman, and  is  much  more  modest  and  intelligent  than 
many  of  the  young  men  in  Boyd  City  who  have  fine 
homes.  I  am  sure  we  ought  not  to  blame  him  because 
he  has  to  fight  his  own  way  in  the  world,  instead  of 
always  having  things  brought  to  him.  If  you  knew 
him  better,  you  wouldn't  talk  so."  She  spoke  rapidly 
in  her  excitement. 

"You  seem  to  know  him  very  well  when  you  cham- 
pion him  so  strongly  that  you  call  your  own  father 
a  liar,"  replied  Adam,  harshly. 

"Oh  papa,"  said  Amy,  now  in  tears.  "I  did  not 
mean  to  say  that.  I  only  meant  that  you  were  mis- 
taken because  you  did  not  know.  I  cannot  help  talk- 
ing to  Mr.  Falkner  when  I  meet  him  in  the  Young 
People's  Society.  I  have  not  been  anywhere  in  his 
company,  and  only  just  speak  a  few  words  when  we 
do  meet.  You  wouldn't  have  me  refuse  to  recognize 
him  in  the  church,  would  you  ?  Surely,  father,  Christ 
wants  us  to  be  helpful,  doesn't  he  ?" 

239 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Christ  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  case,"  said 
Adam.  "I  simply  will  not  have  my  daughter  asso- 
ciating with  such  characters ;  and  another  thing,  you 
must  give  up  that  Mission  business.  I  believe  that's 
where  you  get  these  strange  ideas." 

"I  have  already  given  up  my  work  there,"  said 
Amy,  sadly.  "Mr.  Falkner  has  taken  my  class." 

"Which  is  just  the  place  for  him.  But  don't  you 
go  there  again.  And  if  you  have  any  printing  that 
must  be  done  at  Udell's,  send  it  by  Frank,  or  some- 
one. You  understand,  I  forbid  you  to  have  any  con- 
versation whatever  with  that  man.  I'll  see  if  such 
fellows  are  going  to  work  themselves  into  my  fam- 

ily." 

Amy's  face  grew  crimson  again.  "You  must 
learn,"  went  on  the  angry  parent,  "that  the  church 
is  a  place  for  you  to  listen  to  a  sermon,  and  that  it's 
the  preacher's  business  to  look  after  all  these  other 
details;  that's  what  we  hire  him  for.  Let  him  get 
people  from  the  lower  classes  to  do  his  dirty  work; 
he  shan't  have  my  daughter.  Christianity  is  all  right, 
and  I  trust  I'm  as  good  a  Christian  as  anyone;  but 
a  man  need  not  make  a  fool  of  himself  to  get  to 
Heaven,  and  I'm.  only  looking  out  for  my  own  fam- 
ily's interest.  If  you  wish  to  please  me  you  will  drop 
this  Young  People's  foolishness  altogether,  and  go 
more  into  society.  I  wish  you  would  follow  Frank's 
example.  He  is  a  good  church  member  but  he  don't 

240 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

let  it  interfere  with  his  best  interests.  He  has  plenty 
of  friends  and  chooses  his  associates  among  the  first 
families  in  the  city.  He  don't  think  it  necessary  to 
take  up  with  every  vagabond  Cameron  chooses  to  drag 
into  the  church.  Remember,  it  must  stop."  And  the 
careful  father  took  his  hat  and  left  for  the  place  on 
Broadway,  where  on  the  shelves  and  behind  the  coun- 
ters of  his  hardware  store  he  kept  the  God  he  really 
worshipped. 


CHAPTER  XVL 


H  K  year  following  Dick's  stand  for  Chris- 
tianity, an  open  air  theater  was  established 
in  the  park  on  West  Fourth  Street,  near  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  which  was  advertised  by  its  en- 
terprising manager  as  a  very  respectable  place,  well 
looked  after  by  the  police.  It  is  true  that  the  shows 
were  but  cheap  variety  and  vulgar  burlesque,  and  of 
course  liquor,  as  well  as  more  harmless  drinks,  was 
sold  freely;  and  equally  of  course,  the  lowest  of  the 
criminal  classes  were  regular  attendants.  But,  with 
all  that,  there  was  something  terribly  fascinating  in 
the  freedom  of  the  place.  And  all  too  often,  on  a  Sun- 
day evening,  while  the  pure,  fragrant  air  of  summer 
was  polluted  by  the  fumes  of  tobacco  and  beer,  while 
low  plays  were  enacted  on  the  stage,  and  the  sound  of 
drunken  laugh  or  shout  went  out,  young  men  and  w»- 
men  mingled,  half  frightened,  in  the  careless  throng. 
Among  a  certain  set  of  Boyd  City's  gay  young  so- 
ciety people,  to  spend  an  evening  at  the  park  was 
just  the  thing  to  do;  and  often  they  might  be  seen 
grouped  about  the  tables,  sipping  their  refreshments, 

245 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

while  laughing  at  the  actors  on  the  stage,  or  chatting 
and  joking  among  themselves. 

On  an  evening  in  August,  when  our  chapter  opens, 
one  such  party  was  even  gayer  than  usual,  and  at- 
tracted no  little  attention  from  the  frequenters  of  the 
place,  as  well  as  the  employes.  Waiters  winked  at 
each  other  and  made  remarks,  as  they  hurried  to  and 
fro  attending  to  the  wants  of  their  guests,  while  peo- 
ple with  less  wealth  looked  on  in  envy  at  the  glittering 
show.  The  gentlemen  were  in  evening  dress,  the 
ladies  gowned  in  the  latest  fashion,  jewels  and  trink- 
ets flashed,  eyes  sparkled,  cheeks  glowed,  as  story  and 
jest  went  round,  while  the  ladies  sipped  their  refresh- 
ing sodas  and  the  men  drank  their  wine. 

One  of  the  younger  girls  seemed  a  little  frightened 
for  a  moment  as  she  caught  the  eye  of  a  waiter  fas- 
tened upon  her  in  anything  but  a  respectful  glance, 
and  gave  the  fellow  such  a  look  in  return  that  he 
dropped  a  napkin  in  his  confusion.  "I  tell  you,  Bill," 
he  said  to  his  companion  at  the  bar,  where  he  had 
gone  to  get  more  drinks  for  the  company,  "that's  a 
fast  lot  all  right,  but  there's  one  in  the  bunoh  that 
can't  go  the  pace." 

But  the  waiter  was  evidently  mistaken,  for  that 
same  girl,  after  a  glance  around  which  revealed  to 
her  that  she  and  her  companions  were  the  center  of 
all  eyes,  tossed  her  head  as  though  getting  rid  of  some 
unpleasant  thoughts,  and  turning  to  her  escort,  with 

246 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

a  reckless  laugh,  asked  him  why  he  kept  the  best  for 
himself.  "I  don't  think  it  fair,  girls,"  she  declared  in 
a  loud  voice.  "We  have  as  good  a  right  to  that  nice 
wine  as  the  boys  have.  I  move  that  we  make  them 
treat  us  as  well  as  they  treat  themselves." 

"Done,"  cried  one  of  the  men  before  the  others 
could  object,  even  had  they  so  desired ;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment another  bottle,  with  more  glasses,  was  set  be- 
fore them.  The  girl  who  had  proposed  the  thing  only 
drank  a  little.  Something  seemed  to  choke  her  when 
she  lifted  the  glass  to  her  lips,  and  she  set  it  down 
again  almost  untasted.  "Ugh,"  she  said,  "I  don't  like 
it,"  and  a  laugh  went  around  at  her  expense. 

"Take  it.  Take  it.  You  must. .  You  started  it 
you  know." 

"I  can't,"  she  protested.  "Here  Jim,"  to  her  com- 
panion, who  had  already  taken  more  than  was  good 
for  him.  "You  must  help  me  out."  And  she  handed 
him  the  glass. 

"Glad  to  help  a  lady  always,"  he  declared.  "Notisch 
please,  gen'lemen,  I  set  y'  good  example.  Alwaysh 
come  to  the  rescue  of  fair  ones  in  trouble — "  He 
drained  the  glass.  "Anybody  else  in  trouble?"  he 
said,  looking  around  the  table  with  a  half  tipsy  grin. 
But  the  other  girls  had  no  scruples  and  drank  their 
wine  without  a  protest. 

At  last  the  party  discovered  that  it  was  time  to  go 
home,  and  indeed  the  garden  was  almost  deserted.  One 

247 


THAT  PKINTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

of  the  girls  proposed  that  they  walk,  it  was  such  a 
beautiful  night;  and  accordingly  they  set  out,  two 
and  two;  the  men  reckless  with  wine;  the  ladies 
flushed  and  excited;  all  singing  and  laughing.  !N"ot 
far  from  the  park  entrance,  the  girl  who  had  proposed 
the  wine,  and  her  companion,  who  was  by  this  time 
more  than  half  intoxicated,  dropped  a  little  behind 
the  others  and  soon  turned  down  a  side  street. 

"This  Js  not  the  way,  Jim,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of 
laughing  protest. 

"Oh  yesh  'tis.  I  know  where'm  goin'.  Come 
'long."  And  he  caught  her  by  the  arm.  "Wicesh 
place  down  here  where  we  can  stop  and  resht,"  and 
he  staggered  against  her. 

"But  I  want  to  go  home,  Jim,"  her  tone  of  laughing 
protest  changed  to  one  of  earnestness.  "Father  will 
be  looking  for  me." 

"Hang  father,"  said  the  other.  "Old  man  don't 
know.  Come  on  I  tell  you."  And  he  tried  to  put  his 
arm  about  her  waist. 

The  girl  was  frightened  now  in  earnest.  "Stop 
sir,"  she  said. 

"Why  ?  Whash  ze  matter  m'  dear  ?"  stammered  the 
other.  "Whash  ze  harm — zash  all — I'll  take  care  you 
all  right — 01'  man  never  know."  And  again  he 
clutched  her  arm. 

This  was  too  much,  and  giving  the  drunken  wretch 
a  push,  which  sent  him  tumbling  into  the  gutter, 

248 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

where  cursing  fiercely  he  struggled  to  regain  his  feet, 
the  frightened  girl,  without  pausing  to  see  his  condi- 
tion, or  listening  to  his  calls  and  threats,  fled  down 
the  street.  When  her  companion  had  at  last  man- 
aged to  stagger  to  the  sidewalk  and  could  look  around 
by  clinging  to  the  fence,  she  was  out  of  sight.  He 
called  two  or  three  times,  and  then  swearing  vilely, 
started  in  pursuit,  reeling  from  side  to  side.  The 
frightened  girl  ran  on  and  on,  paying  no  heed  to  her 
course,  as  she  turned  corner  after  corner  her  only 
thought  being  to  escape  from  her  drunken  and  en- 
raged companion. 

Meanwhile,  Dick  Falkner  was  making  his  way 
home  after  a  delightful  evening  at  the  parsonage, 
where  he  had  talked  with  Cameron  on  the  veranda 
until  a  late  hour.  As  he  was  walking  leisurely  along 
through  the  quiet  streets,  past  the  dark  houses,  enjoy- 
ing the  coolness  of  the  evening  and  thinking  of  the 
things  that  he  and  Cameron  had  been  discussing,  his 
ear  caught  a  strange  sound,  that  seemed  to  come  from 
within  a  half  finished  house  on  North  Catalpa  Street, 
near  the  railroad.  He  paused  a  moment  and  listened. 
Surely  he  was  not  mistaken.  There  it  was  again.  The 
sound  of  someone  sobbing.  Stepping  closer  and  peer- 
ing into  the  shadow,  he  saw  a  figure  crouching  behind 
a  pile  of  lumber.  It  was  a  woman. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  but  can  I  be  of  any 
help  to  you  V 

249 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

She  started  to  her  feet  with  a  little  cry.  "Don't  be 
frightened,"  said  Dick,  in  a  calm  voice.  "I  am  a 
gentleman.  Come,  let  me  help  you."  And  stepping 
into  the  shadow,  he  gently  led  her  to  the  light,  where 
she  stood  trembling  before  him.  "Tell  me  what — • 
My  God!  Amy — I  beg  your  pardon — Miss  Good- 
rich." 

"Oh  Mr.  Falkner,"  sobbed  the  poor  girl,  almost  be- 
side herself  with  fear.  "Don't  let  that  man  come  near 
me.  I  want  to  go  home.  Oh,  please  take  me  home  ?" 

"There,  there,"  said  Dick,  controlling  himself  and 
speaking  in  a  steady,  matter-of-fact  tone.  "Of  course 
I'll  see  you  home.  Take  my  arm,  please.  You  need 
have  no  fear.  You  know  I'll  protect  you." 

Calmed  by  his  voice  and  manner,  the  girl  ceased 
her  sobbing  and  walked  quietly  down  the  street  by  his 
side. 

Dick's  mind  was  in  a  whirl.  Was  he  dreaming? 
How  came  she  here  at  such  an  hour.  Who  was  she 
afraid  of?  By  her  dress,  she  had  been  to  a  social 
party  of  some  kind ;  what  did  it  all  mean  ?  But  he 
spoke  no  word  as  they  walked  on  together. 

"Oh  look,"  exclaimed  Amy,  a  few  moments  later, 
as  they  turned  east  on  Sixth  Street;  "there  he  is 
again.  Oh  Mr.  Falkner,  what  shall  I  do?  Let  me 
go."  And  she  turned  to  run  once  more. 

Dick  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "Miss  Goodrich, 
don't  you  know  that  you  are  safe  with  me  ?  Be  calm 

250 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

and  tell  me  what  you  fear."  Something  in  his  touch 
brought  Amy  to  herself  again  and  she  whispered: 
"Don't  you  see  that  man  standing  there  by  the 
light  ?"  She  pointed  to  a  figure  leaning  against  a 
telephone  pole. 

"Well,  what  of  it  ?"  said  Dick.  "He  won't  hurt 
you." 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  understand.  I  ran  away  from 
him.  He  is  drunk  and  threatened  me." 

Dick's  form  straightened  and  his  face  grew  hard 
and  cold.  "Ran  away  from  him.  Do  you  mean  that 
that  fellow  insulted  you,  Miss  Goodrich?" 

"I — I — was  with  him — and — he  frightened  me — " 
gasped  Amy.  "Let's  go  the  other  way." 

But  they  were  too  late.  Amy's  former  escort  had 
seen  them,  and  with  uncertain  steps  approached.  "Oh, 
here  you  are,"  he  said.  "Thought  I'd  find  you,  my 
beauty." 

Dick  whispered  to  Amy  in  a  tone  she  dared  not 
disobey.  "Stand  right  where  you  are.  Don't  move. 
And  you  might  watch  that  star  over  there.  Isn't  it  a 
beautiful  one?"  He  deftly  turned  her  so  that  she 
faced  away  from  the  drunkard.  Then  with  three  long 
steps,  he  placed  himself  in  the  way  of  the  half -crazed 
man. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  asked  the  fellow,  with  an  oath. 

"None  of  your  business,"  replied  Dick,  curtly.  "I'm 
that  girl's  friend.  Go  to  the  other  side  of  the  street." 

251 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Ho,  I  know  you  now,"  cried  the  other.  "You're 
that  bum  printer  of  Udell's.  Get  out  of  my  way. 
That  girl's  a  lady  and  Fm  a  gentleman.  She  don't  go 
with  tramps.  I'll  see  her  home  myself." 

Dick  spoke  again.  "You  may  be  a  gentleman,  but 
you  are  in  no  condition  to  see  anybody  home.  I'll 
tell  you  just  once  more ;  cross  to  the  other  side  of  the 
street." 

The  fellow's  only  answer  was  another  string  of  vile 
oaths,  which  however  was  never  finished. 

In  spite  of  herself,  Amy  turned  just  in  time  to  see 
a  revolver  glisten  in  the  light  of  the  electric  lamp; 
then  the  owner  of  the  revolver  rolled  senseless  in  the 
gutter. 

"Miss  Goodrich,  I  told  you  to  watch  that  star. 
Don't  you  find  it  beautiful  ?"  Dick's  voice  was  calm, 
with  just  a  suggestion  of  mild  reproach. 

"Oh  Mr.  Falkner,  have  you  killed  him  ?" 

"Killed  nothing.  Come."  And  he  led  her  quickly 
past  the  place  where  the  self-styled  gentleman  lay. 
"Just  a  moment,"  he  said ;  and  turning  back,  he  ex- 
amined the  fallen  man.  "Only  stunned,"  he  reported 
cheerfully.  "He'll  have  a  sore  head  for  a  few  days ; 
that's  all.  I'll  send  a  cab  to  pick  him  up  when  we 
get  down  town." 

"Mr.  Falkner,"  said  Amy.,  when  they  had  walked 
some  distance  in  silence.  "I  don't  know  what  you 
think  of  finding  me  here  at  this  hour,  but  I  don't 

252 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

want  you  to  think  me  worse  than  I  am."  And  then 
she  told  him  the  whole  story;  how  she  had  gone  to 
the  park  with  her  friends  to  spend  the  evening ;  and 
how  they  had  a  few  refreshments.  Dick  ground  his 
teeth ;  he  knew  what  those  refreshments  were.  Then 
she  told  how  her  companion  had  frightened  her 
and  she  had  run  until  she  was  exhausted  and  had  stop- 
ped to  hide  in  the  unfinished  house.  "Oh,  what  must 
you  think  of  me  ?"  she  said,  at  the  point  of  breaking 
down  again. 

"I  think  just  as  I  Jways  have,"  said  Dick  simply. 
"Please  calm  yourself,  you're  safe  now."  Then 
to  occupy  her  mind,  he  told  her  of  the  work  the 
Young  People's  Society  was  doing,  and  how  they 
missed  her  there  and  at  the  Mission. 

"But  don't  you  find  such  things  rather  tiresome, 
you  know?"  she  asked.  "There's  not  much  life  in 
those  meetings  seems  to  me ;  I  wonder  now  how  I  ever 
stood  them." 

"You  are  very  busy  then  ?"  asked  Dick,  hiding  the 
pain  her  words  caused  him. 

"Oh  yes ;  with  our  whist  club,  box  parties,  dances 
and  dinners,  I'm  so  tired  out  when  Sunday  comes  I 
just  want  to  sleep  all  day.  But  one  must  look  after 
one's  social  duties,  you  know,  or  be  a  nobody;  and 
our  set  is  such  a  jolly  crowd  that  there's  always  some- 
thing going." 


253 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"And  you  have  forgotten  your  class  at  the  Mission 
altogether  ?"  Dick  asked. 

"Oh  no,  I  saw  one  of  the  little  beggars  on  the  street 
this  summer.  It  was  down  near  the  Mission  build- 
ing, and  don't  you  know,  we  were  out  driving,  a  whole 
party  of  us,  and  the  little  rascal  shouted:  'Howdy, 
Miss  Goodrich.'  I  thought  I  would  faint.  Just  fancy. 
And  the  folks  did  guy  rne  good.  The  gentlemen 
wanted  to  know  if  he  was  one  of  my  flames,  and  the 
girls  all  begged  to  be  introduced ;  and  don't  you  know, 
I  got  out  of  it  by  telling  them  that  it  was  the  child 
of  a  woman  who  scrubs  for  us." 

Dick  said  nothing.  "Could  it  be  possible  ?"  he 
asked  himself,  "that  this  was  the  girl  who  had  been 
such  a  worker  in  the  church."  And  then  he  thought 
of  the  change  in  his  own  life  in  the  same  period  of 
time;  a  change  fully  as  great,  though  in  another 
direction.  "It  don't  take  long  to  go  either  way  if  one 
only  has  help  enough,"  he  said,  half  aloud. 

"What  are  you  saying,  Mr.  Falkner  ?"  asked  Amy. 

"It's  not  far  home  now,"  answered  Dick,  and  they 
fell  into  silence  again. 

As  they  neared  the  Goodrich  mansion,  Amy  clasped 
Dick's  arm  with  both  her  little  hands :  "Mr.  Falkner, 
promise  me  that  you  will  never  speak  to  a  living  soul 
about  this  evening." 

Dick  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes.  "I  am  a  gen- 
tloman,  Miss  Goodrich,"  was  all  he  said. 

254 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Then  as  they  reached  the  steps  of  the  house,  she 
held  out  her  hand.  "I  thank  you  for  your  kindness 
— and  please  don't  think  of  me  too  harshly.  I  know 
I  am  not  just  the  girl  I  was  a  year  ago,  but  I — do 
you  remember  our  talk  at  the  printing  office  ?" 

"Every  word,"  said  Dick. 

"Well,  has  my  prophecy  come  true  ?" 

"About  my  preaching  ?    $"0 ;  not  yet." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoul- 
ders. "I  mean  about  the  other.  Do  you  still  value 
my  friendship  ?" 

Dick  hesitated.  "The  truth,  please,"  she  said.  "I 
want  to  know." 

"Miss  Goodrich,  I  cannot  make  you  understand; 
you  know  my  whole  life  has  changed  the  last  year." 

"Yes." 

"But  my  feelings  toward  you  can  never  change. 
I  do  value  your  friendship,  for  I  know  that  your  pres- 
ent life  does  not  satisfy  you,  and  that  you  are  untrue 
to  your  best  self  in  living  it." 

The  girl  drew  herself  up  haughtily.  "Indeed,  you 
are  fast  becoming  a  very  proficient  preacher,"  she 
said,  coldly. 

"Wait  a  moment,  please,"  interrupted  Dick.  "You 
urged  me  to  tell  the  truth.  I  desire  your  friendship, 
because  I  know  the  beautiful  life  you  could  live,  and 
because  you — you — could  help  me  to  live  it,"  his 
voice  broke. 

255 


THAT  PEINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Amy  held  out  her  hand  again.  "Forgive  me 
please,"  she  said.  "You  are  a  true  friend,  and  I 
shall  never,  never,  forget  you.  Oh,  Mr.  Falkner,  if 
you  are  a  Christian  pray  for  me  before  it  is  too  late. 
Good-night."  And  she  was  gone ;  just  as  her  brother 
Frank  came  up  the  walk. 

Young  Goodrich  stopped  short  when  he  saw  Diek, 
and  then  sprang  up  the  steps  and  into  the  house,  just 
in  time  to  see  his  sister  going  up  the  stairway  to  her 
room. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


HE  day  following  Amy's  adventure  with  her 
drunken  escort,  and  her  rescue  by  Dick 
Falkner,  Frank  Goodrich  had  a  long  inter- 
view with  his  father,  which  resulted  in  Adam's  calling 
his  daughter  into  his  library  that  evening.  Without 
any  preface  whatever,  he  began,  in  an  angry  tone :  "I 
understand,  Miss,  that  you  have  disobeyed  my  express 
commands  in  regard  to  that  tramp  printer,  and  that 
you  have  been  with  him  again ;  and  that  too,  late  at 
night.  Now  I  have  simply  to  tell  you  that  you  must 
choose  between  him  and  your  home.  I  will  not  have 
a  child  of  mine  keeping  such  company.  You  must 
either  give  him  up  or  go." 

"But  father,  you  do  not  know  the  circumstances  or 
you  would  not  talk  so." 

"No  circumstances  can  excuse  your  conduct;  I 
know  you  were  with  him  and  that  is  enough." 

"Indeed  I  have  not  disobeyed  you ;  father,  you  do 
not  understand ;  I  was  in  Mr.  Falkner's  company  only 
by  accident,  and- — " 

"Stop.  Don't  add  a  falsehood  to  your  conduct.  I 
3ft 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

understand  quite  enough.  Your  own  brother  saw  you 
bidding  him  an  affectionate  good-night  at  one  o'clock, 
on  my  doorstep.  Such  things  do  not  happen  by  acci- 
dent. I  wonder  that  you  dare  look  me  in  the  face 
after  roaming  the  streets  at  that  time  of  night  with 
such  a  disreputable  character." 

"Father,  I  tell  you  you  are  mistaken.  "Won't  you 
please  let  me  explain  ?"  said  Amy,  almost  in  tears. 

But  the  angry  man  only  replied,  "Xo  explanation 
can  be  made.  Frank  saw  you  himself  and  that's 
enough;  no  excuse  can  justify  such  conduct.  I  hare 
only  to  repeat  that  I  will  not  own  you  as  my  daughtei ' 
if  you  persist  in  keeping  such  company." 

Amy  tried  again  to  speak,  but  he  interrupted  her. 
"Silence,  I  don't  want  to  hear  a  word  from  you.  Go 
to  your  room." 

Then  the  woman  asserted  herself  and  there  were 
no  tears  this  time,  as  she  said  respectfully,  but  firmly, 
'^Father,  you  shall  hear  me.  I  am  not  guilty  of  that 
of  which  you  accuse  me.  I  was  in  other  company, 
company  of  your  own  choosing,  and  to  save  myself 
•from  insult  I  was  forced  to  appeal  to  Mr.  Falkner, 
who  brought  me  safely  home.  He  is  far  more  a  gen- 
tleman than  the  men  I  was  with,  even  though  they  are 
irelcome  at  this  home ;  and  he  is  not.  I — " 

Adam  turned  fairly  green  with  rage.  "You  un- 
grateful, disobedient  girl.  How  dare  you  say  that 
this  miserable  vagabond  is  a  fit  associate  for  you,  and 

260 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Liore  -worthy  than  the  guests  of  my  house  I  Yon  must 
not  think  you  can  deceive  me  and  clear  yourself  by 
any  trumped-up  lie  of  his  teaching.  You  may  have 
your  tramp,  hut  don't  call  me  father.  You  are  no 
daughter  of  mine."  And  he  left  the  room. 

It  is  astonishing  how  little  the  proud  man  kn^w  of 
the  real  nature  of  his  child ;  a  nature  which  rightfully 
understood  and  influenced,  was  capable  of  any  sacri- 
fice, any  hardship,  for  the  one  she  loved ;  but  misun- 
derstood or  falsely  condemned,  was  just  as  capable 
of  reckless  folly  or  despair.  A  nature  that  would 
never  prove  false  to  a  trust,  but  if  unjustly  sus- 
pected, would  turn  to  the  very  thing  of  which  it 
stood  accused. 

The  next  morning  Amy  did  not  appear  at  break- 
fast and  the  mother  went  to  her  room;  while  Mr. 
Goodrich,  impatient  at  the  delay,  stood  with  angry 
eyes  awaiting  their  appearance. 

Frank  came  in.  "Good  morning,  father,"  he  said, 
glancing  about  with  an  assumed  expression  of  sur- 
prise. "Where  is  Amy  and  mother?  I  thought  I 
heard  the  bell." 

Adam  grunted  some  reply  and  the  son  picked  up 
a  week-old  daily  and  pretended  to  be  deeply  inter- 
ested. Suddenly  a  piercing  scream  reached  their  ears, 
and  a  sound  as  of  someone  falling.  With  an  exclama- 
tion of  alarm,  Mr.  Goodrich,  followed  by  his  son,  hur- 
ried from  the  dining-room  and  ran  upstairs.  The 

261 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

door  of  Amy's  apartment  was  open,  and  just  inside, 
prone  upon  the  floor,  lay  Mrs.  Goodrich,  holding  in 
her  hand  a  piece  of  paper.  Adam,  with  the  help  of 
his  son,  lifted  his  wife  and  laid  her  upon  the  bed, 
which  they  noticed  had  not  been  occupied.  For  an 
instant  the  two  stood  looking  into  each  other's  face 
without  a  word,  and  then  the  older  man  said,  "We 
must  take  care  of  mother  first.  Call  Dr.  Gleason." 

Under  the  advice  of  the  physician,  who  soon  came 
in  answer  to  Frank's  telephone  call,  Mrs.  Goodrich 
was  removed  to  her  own  room,  and  in  a  short  time  re- 
gained consciousness,  but  fell  to  moaning  and  sob- 
bing, "Oh,  Amy — Amy — my  poor  ohild — my  baby 
girl — what  have  you  done  ?  I  never  thought  that  yon 
would  do  a  thing  like  this.  Oh,  my  beautiful  girl — 
come  back — come  back — "  And  then  when  she  be- 
came calmer,  told  them  what  they  already  knew ;  that 
she  had  found  her  daughter's  room  undisturbed,  with 
a  note  addressed  to  herself  on  the  toilet  table,  con- 
taining only  a  simple  farewell  message. 

"There,  there,  wife,  she's  gone,"  said  Adam, 
clumsily  trying  to  soothe  the  mother's  anguish,  but 
finding  that  a  tongue  long  accustomed  to  expressions 
of  haughty  pride  and  bigotry,  could  but  poorly  lend 
itself  to  softer  words  of  comfort.  "There,  there,  don't 
cry,  let  her  go.  That  scoundrel  printer  is  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it  all.  Somehow  the  girl  does  not  seem  to  take 
after  the  Goodrich's.  Madam,  please  try  to  control 

262 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

your  feelings.  You  must  not  make  yourself  ill  over 
tliis  matter." 

Mrs.  Goodrich,  accustomed  to  obey,  with  a  great 
effort,  ceased  the  open  expression  of  her  grief. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  she  has  gone  with 
that  tramp,"  continued  Adam.  "I  shall  do  what  I 
can  to  find  her  and  give  her  one  more  chance.  If  she 
acknowledges  her  fault  and  promises  to  do  better  she 
may  come  home.  If  not,  she  shall  never  darken  these 
doors  again." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Goodrich,  don't  say  that,"  cried  the 
mother.  "Think  of  that  poor  child  on  the  streets  all 
alone.  Perhaps  you  are  mistaken." 

"What?  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  take  her 
part  against  me  ?" 

"I^o,  no,"  murmured  the  frightened  woman. 

"I  tell  you,  there  can  be  no  mistake.  You  sa\r 
them  did  you  not,  Frank?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  hear  that,  Mrs.  Goodrich  ?  You  will  oblige 
me  by  not  mentioning  this  matter  again."  And  hur- 
riedly leaving  the  room,  Adam  went  to  his  own 
private  apartment,  where,  after  he  had  turned  the  key 
in  the  door,  he  paced  to  and  fro,  the  tears  streaming 
down  his  cheeks.  But  in  a  few  moments,  while  he 
made  his  preparations  for  going  down  the  street, 
thoughts  of  the  curious  faces  he  must  meet  aroused 
the  old  pride  and  hardened  his  heart  again.  So  that 

263 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

when  he  left  the  building,  not  a  trace  of  his  worthier 
feelings  showed  on  his  cold,  proper  countenance,  ex- 
cept that  to  the  keen  observer,  he  looked  a  little  older 
perhaps,  and  a  trifle  less  self-satisfied. 

His  first  visit  was  to  the  store,  where  he  spent  an 
hour  or  two  going  over  his  correspondence,  interview- 
ing the  head  clerk  and  issuing  his  orders  for  the  daj. 
Then  taking  his  hat  and  cane,  he  left  for  the  printing 
office. 

The  boy  was  away  on  an  errand,  and  George  had 
stepped  out  for  a  few  moments,  so  that  Dick  was  alone 
when  Mr.  Goodrich  entered.  Thinking  that  it  was 
the  printer  who  had  returned,  he  did  not  look  up  from 
his  work  until  he  was  startled  by  the  angry  voice  of 
his  visitor. 

"Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you  are  satisfied  at  last. 
Where  is  my  daughter  ?" 

"Your  daughter,"  said  Dick,  who  had  not  heard  the 
news,  "I'm  sure,  sir,  that  I  do  not  know." 

"Don't  lie  to  me,  you  scoundrel,"  shouted  Adam, 
losing  all  control  of  himself.  "You  were  with  her 
last.  You  have  been  trying  ever  -ince  you  came  here 
to  worm  yourself  into  the  society  of  your  betters.  Tell 
me  what  you  have  done  with  her." 

"Mr.  Goodrich,"  said  Dick,  forcing  himself  to  be 
calm,  "you  must  explain.  It  is  true  that  I  was  with 
your  daughter  night  before  last,  but — "  he  hesitated ; 
should  he  explain  how  he  had  found  Amy  ? — "I  left 

264 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

her  safely  at  your  door  and  have  not  seen  her  since." 
He  finished.  "Is  she  not  home?" 

Adam  only  glared  at  him.  "She  did  not  sleep  at 
home  last  night,"  he  growled. 

Dick's  voice  failed  him  for  a  moment.  "Then  she 
must  be  stopping  with  some  friend ;  surely  there  is  no 
need  for  alarm." 

"I  tell  you  she's  gone,"  said  the  other  furiously. 
"She  left  a  letter.  You  are  to  blame  for  this.  You 
I  say;  and  you  shall  suffer  for  it."  He  shook  his 
clenched  fist  at  the  young  man.  "If  you  have  hidden 
her  anywhere  I'll  have  your  life ;  you  miserable,  low- 
down  vagabond.  You  have  schemed  and  schemed  un- 
til you  have  succeeded  in  stealing  her  heart  from  her 
home,  and  disgracing  me." 

"Adam  Goodrich,  you  lie,"  said  Dick,  pale  with 
mingled  anxiety  for  the  girl,  and  angry  that  her 
father  should  thus  accuse  him.  "Do  you  understand 
me  ?  I  say  that  you  lie.  That  you  are  the  most  con- 
temptible liar  that  I  have  ever  known.  Your  whole 
life  is  a  lie."  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  but  there  was 
something  underlying  the  quiet  of  his  voice  and  man- 
ner that  contrasted  strangely  with  the  loud  bluster 
of  the  older  man,  and  made  the  latter  tremble.  This 
was  a  new  experience  for  him,  and  something  in  the 
manly  face  of  the  one  who  uttered  these  hard  words 
startled  and  frightened  him. 

"You  have  forced  your  daughter  to  drop  her  church 
265 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

work,  and  have  goaded  her  into  the  society  of  people 
whose  only  claim  to  respectability  is  their  wealth. 
You  value  your  position  in  the  world  more  than  your 
daughter's  character,  and  you  yourself  are  to  blame 
for  this.  I  tell  you  again,  sir,  that  you  are  a  liar.  I 
do  not  know  where  your  daughter  is,  but  if  she  is  on 
earth  I  will  find  her  and  bring  her  back  to  your  home ; 
not  for  your  sake,  but  for  hers.  Now  go.  Get  out. 
The  very  atmosphere  is  foul  with  your  rotten  hypoc- 
risy." 

"Whew!"  whistled  George  a  moment  later,  as  he 
stepped  into  the  room,  having  passed  Adam  on  the 
stairway.  "What's  the  matter  with  his  Royal  High- 
ness, Dickie  ?  He  looks  like  he  had  been  in  a  boiler 
explosion."  But  his  expression  changed  when  Dick 
told  him  of  the  interview  and  apologized  for  driving 
a  good  customer  from  the  office.  "Good  customer!" 
he  shouted ;  "good  customer !  A  mighty  bad  customer. 
I  say  you'd  better  apologize  for  not  throwing  him  into 
the  street.  I'll  never  set  up  another  line  for  him  un- 
less it's  an  invitation  to  his  funeral." 

For  many  days  Dick  searched  for  the  missing  girl, 
bringing  to  bear  all  his  painfully  acquired  knowledge 
of  life,  and  the  crooked  ways  of  the  world.  Though 
unknown  to  Mr.  Goodrich,  the  detective  from  Chi- 
cago, whom  he  employed,  was  an  old  companion  of 
Dick's,  and  to  the  officer  only,  he  confided  the  full 


266 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

story  of  Amy's  visit  to  the  park.  But  they  only 
learned  that  she  had  boarded  the  twelve-forty  Kansas 
City  Southern,  for  Joneeville,  and  that  a  woman  an- 
swering to  her  description  had  stopped  there  until 
nearly  noon  the  next  day,  when  she  was  seen  in  con- 
versation with  a  man  whose  face  was  badly  bruised 
on  the  under  left  side  of  the  chin.  The  two  had  taken 
the  same  train  east  on  the  "Frisco."  They  found  also 
that  her  companion  of  that  night  at  the  park,  James 
Whitley,  had  hurriedly  left  Boyd  City  on  the  morning 
train,  over  the  "Frisco,"  to  Jonesville,  and  had  not 
returned,  nor  could  his  whereabouts  be  discovered. 
It  was  given  out  in  public,  among  the  society 
items  of  the  Whistler,  that  he  had  been  called  sud- 
denly to  the  bedside  of  a  sick  friend  5  but  Dick  and 
the  detective  knew  better. 

Gradually  the  interest  on  the  part  of  the  citizens 
subsided,  and  the  detective  returned  to  Chicago  to 
other  mysteries  demanding  his  attention.  Adam 
Goodrich  refused  to  talk  of  the  matter,  and  gave  no 
sign  of  hie  sorrow,  save  an  added  sternness  in  his 
manner.  But  the  mother's  health  was  broken ;  while 
Frank,  declaring  that  he  could  not  stand  the  disgrace, 
went  for  a  long  visit  to  a  friend  in  a  neighboring  city. 
Finally  Dick  himself  was  forced  to  give  up  the 
search ;  but  though  baffled  for  a  time,  he  declared  to 
Udell  and  his  pastor,  that  he  would  yet  bring  Amy 


267 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

home  aa  he  had  promised  her  father.  And  while  he 
went  about  his  work  as  usual,  it  was  with  a  heavy 
heart,  and  a  look  on  his  face  that  caused  his  friends 
who  knew  him  best  to  pity. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


HE  summer  passed  and  again  the  catalpa 
trees  shed  their  hroad  leaves,  while  the 
prairie  grass  took  on  the  reddish  hrown  of 
early  fall.  Jim  Whitley  suddenly  returned  to  Boyd 
City  and  Dick  met  him  in  the  post-office.  Not  a  word 
passed  between  them,  but  an  hour  later  a  note  was 
put  into  Jim's  hand  by  a  ragged  boot-black. 

"George,"  said  Dick,  that  afternoon  as  they  were 
locking  up,  "if  you  don't  mind  I  believe  I'll  sleep  in 
my  old  bed  in  the  office  to-night." 

Udell  looked  at  his  helper  in  astonishment.  "What 
in  the  world  ?"  he  began ;  then  stopped. 

"I  can't  explain  now,  but  please  let  me  have  my 
way  and  say  nothing  about  it  to  anyone;  not  even 
Clara." 

"Why  sure,  old  man,"  said  the  other  heartily; 
"only  I  don't  know  why."  He  paused  again ;  then  in 
an  anxious  tone,  "Dickie,  I  know  it's  hard,,  and  you've 
been  putting  up  a  great  fight,  but  you're  not  going  to 
let  go  now  ?" 

"No,  no,  it's  not  that,  old  man :  I'll  explain  some 
271 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

day."  And  something  in  his  face  assured  his  friend 
that  whatever  it  was  that  prompted  his  strange  re- 
quest, Dick  was  still  master  of  himself. 

Late  that  night  as  Udell  passed  the  office  on  his 
way  home,  after  spending  the  evening  with  Miss  Wil- 
son, he  was  astonished  to  see  Jim  Whitley  entering 
the  building.  He  stood  watching  for  a  moment ;  then. 
fearing  possible  danger  for  Dick,  he  ran  lightly  up  the 
stairs.  But  as  he  reached  out  to  lay  his  hand  on  the 
door  latch,  he  heard  a  key  turn  in  the  lock  and  his 
friend's  voice  saying,  "I  thought  you  would  come." 
George  paused,  and  then  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoul- 
der, and  a  queer  smile  on  his  rugged  face,  turned  and 
went  softly  down  to  the  street  again- 

Dick  and  his  visitor  faced  each  other  in  the  dimly 
lighted  office. 

"Well,"  said  Whitley,  with  an  oath,  "what  do  you 
want  3" 

"I  want  you  to  take  your  hand  out  of  your  pocket 
first,"  flashed  Dick;  "that  gun  won't  help  you  any 
tonight,"  and  a  heavy  revolver  in  his  own  hand  cov- 
ered Whitley's  heart. 

His  request  was  granted  instantly. 

"Now  walk  into  the  other  room." 

They  passed  into  the  stock  room,  which  was  well 
lighted.  The  windows  were  covered  with  heavy  paper ; 
the  long  table  was  cleared  and  moved  out  from  its 
place  near  the  wall. 

272 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Dick  closed  the  door  and  pointed  to  the  table.  "Lay 
your  gun  there.  Be  careful,"  as  Whitley  drew  his 
revolver.  Jim  glanced  once  at  the  determined  eyes 
and  steady  hand  of  his  master  and  sullenly  obeyed. 

"Now  sit  down." 

Crossing  the  room,  he  seated  himself  in  the  chair 
indicated,  which  placed  him  in  the  full  glare  of  the 
light.  Dick  took  the  other  chair  facing  him,  with  the 
long  table  between  them.  Placing  his  weapon  beside 
the  other,  within  easy  reach  of  his  hand,  he  rested  his 
elbows  on  the  table  and  looked  long  and  steadily  at 
the  man  before  him. 

Whitley  was  uneasy.  "Well,"  he  said  at  last,  when 
he  could  bear  the  silence  no  longer.  "I  hope  you  like 
my  looks." 

"Your  figure  is  somewhat  heavier,  but  shaving  off 
your  beard  has  made  you  look  some  years  younger," 
replied  Dick,  dryly. 

The  other  started  to  his  feet. 

"Don't  be  uneasy,"  said  Dick,  softly  resting  his 
hand  on  one  of  the  revolvers ;  "keep  your  seat  please." 

"I  never  wore  a  beard,"  said  the  other,  as  he 
dropped  back  on  his  chair.  "You  are  mistaken." 

"Then  how  did  you  know  the  meaning  of  my  note, 
and  why  did  you  answer  it  in  person.  You  should 
have  sent  the  right  man." 

Whitley  saw  that  he  had  betrayed  himself  but  made 
one  more  effort. 

273 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"I  came  out  of  curiosity,"  he  muttered. 

Dick  laughed — a  laugh  that  was  not  good  to  hear. 
"I  can  easily  satisfy  you/'  he  said ;  "permit  me  to  tell 
you  a  little  story." 

"The  story  begins  in  a  little  manufacturing  town  a 
few  miles  from  Liverpool,  England,  just  three  years 
ago  today."  Beneath  the  unwavering  eyes  of  the  man 
leaning  on  the  table  Whitley's  face  grew  ghastly  and 
he  writhed  in  his  chair. 

"An  old  man  and  his  wife,  with  their  two  orphaned 
grand-sons,  lived  in  a  little  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  town.  The  older  of  the  boys  was  a  strong  man  of 
twenty;  the  other  a  sickly  lad  of  eight.  The  old 
people  earned  a  slender  income  by  cultivating  small 
fruits.  This  was  helped  out  by  the  wages  of  the 
older  brother,  who  was  a  machinist  in  one  of  the  big 
factories.  They  were  a  quiet  and  unpretentious  lit- 
tle family,  devout  Christians,  and  very  much  at- 
tached to  each  other. 

"One  afternoon  a  wealthy  American,  who  was  stop- 
ping at  a  large  resort  a  few  miles  from  the  Tillage, 
went  for  a  drive  along  the  road  leading  past  their 
home.  As  his  carriage  was  passing,  the  little  boy,  who 
was  playing  just  outside  the  yard,  unintentionally 
frightened  the  horses  and  they  shied  quickly.  At 
the  same  moment,  the  American's  silk  hat  fell  in  the 
dust.  The  driver  stopped  the  team  and  the  lad, 
frightened,  picked  up  the  hat  and  ran  with  it  toward 

274 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

the  carriage,  stammering  an  apology  for  what  he  had 
done. 

"Instead  of  accepting  the  boy's  excuse,  the  man,  be- 
side himself  with  anger,  and  slightly  under  the  influ- 
ence of  wine,  sprang  from  the  carriage,  and  seizing 
the  lad,  kicked  him  brutally. 

"The  grandfather,  who  was  working  in  his  garden, 
saw  the  incident,  and  hurried  as  fast  as  he  could  to 
the  rescue.  At  the  same  time,  the  driver  jumped  from 
his  seat  to  protect  the  child,  but  before  they  could 
reach  the  spot,  the  boy  was  lying  bruised  and  sense- 
less in  the  dust. 

"The  old  man  rushed  at  the  American  in  impotent 
rage,  and  the  driver,  fearing  for  his  safety,  caught 
him  by  the  arm  and  tried  to  separate  them,  saying, 
'You  look  after  the  boy.  Let  me  settle  with  him/ 
But  the  old  man  was  deaf  and  could  not  understand, 
and  thought  that  the  driver,  also  an  American,  was 
assisting  his  employer.  In  the  struggle,  the  American 
suddenly  drew  a  knife,  and  in  spite  of  the  driver's 
efforts,  struck  twice  at  his  feeble  opponent,  who  fell 
back  in  the  arms  of  his  would-be  protector,  just  as  the 
older  brother  rushed  upon  the  scene.  The  American 
leaped  into  the  carriage  and  snatched  up  the  lines. 
The  mechanic  sprang  after  him,  and  as  he  caught  hold 
of  the  seat  in  his  attempt  to  climb  in,  the  knife  flashed 
again,  cutting  a  long  gash  in  his  arm  and  hand,  sever- 
ing the  little  finger.  With  the  other  hand,  he  caught 

275 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

the  wrist  of  the  American,  but  a  heavy  blow  in  the 
face  knocked  him  beneath  the  wheels,  and  the  horses 
dashed  away  down  the  road. 

"The  driver  was  bending  over  the  old  man  trying  to 
staunch  the  flow  of  blood,  when  several  workmen,  at- 
tracted by  the  cries  of  the  helpless  grandmother,  who 
had  witnessed  the  scene  from  the  porch,  came  running 
up.  l  'E's  one  on  'em-'e's  one  on  'em,'  cried  the  old 
lady.  '  'E  'eld  my  man  while  'tother  'it  'im.' 

"The  driver  saw  her  mistake  instantly,  and  realizing 
his  danger  as  the  man  passed  into  the  house  with  the 
body  of  the  old  man,  he  ran  down  the  street  and  es- 
caped. Two  days  later,  he  read  in  a  Liverpool  paper 
that  the  grandfather  and  boy  were  both  dead,  and 
that  the  dying  statement  of  the  old  man,  the  testimony 
of  the  grandmother  and  the  brother,  was  that  both  the 
strangers  were  guilty. 

"How  the  wealthy  American  made  his  escape  from 
the  country  you  know  best.  The  driver  shipped 
aboard  a  vessel  bound  for  Australia,  and  later,  made 
his  way  home." 

When  Dick  had  finished  his  story,  Whitley's  face 
was  drawn  and  haggard.  He  leaped  to  his  feet  again, 
but  the  revolver  motioned  him  back.  "What  fiend 
told  you  all  this?"  he  gasped  hoarsely.  "Who  are 
you?" 

"I  am  the  driver." 

Whitley  sank  back  in  his  chair;  then  suddenly 
276 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

broke  into  a  harsh  laugh.     "You  are  a  crazy  fooL 
Who  would  believe  you  ?    You  have  no  proof." 

"Wait  a  bit,"  replied  Dick,  calmly.  "There  is  an- 
other chapter  to  my  story.  Less  than  a  year  after  the 
tragedy,  the  invalid  grandmother  died  and  the  young 
machinist  was  free  to  enter  upon  the  great  work  of 
his  life,  the  bringing  to  justice  of  his  brother's  mur- 
derer, or  as  he  believed,  murderers.  He  could  find  no 
clue  as  to  the  identity  of  the  obscure  driver  of  the  car- 
riage, but  with  the  wealthy  American  it  was  different, 
and  he  succeeded  at  last  in  tracing  him  to  his  home  in 
this  city.  Unfortunately  though,  the  long  search  had 
left  the  young  mechanic  without  means,  and  he  ar- 
rived in  Boyd  City  in  a  penniless  and  starving  condi- 
tion, the  night  of  the  great  storm  winter  before  last. 
You  are  familiar  with  the  finding  of  his  body  by 
George  Udell." 

Again  Whitley  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  with  an 
awful  oath  exclaimed,  "How  do  you  know  this  ?" 

Dick  drew  forth  a  long  leather  pocket-book,  and 
opening  it,  took  out  a  package  of  papers,  which  he 
laid  on  the  table  between  the  two  revolvers. 

"There  is  the  story,  written  by  his  own  hand,  to- 
gether with  the  testimony  of  his  grandfather  and 
grandmother,  his  own  sworn  statement,  and  all  the 
evidence  he  had  so  carefully  gathered." 

Whitley  sprang  forward ;  but  before  he  could  cross 
the  room,  both  revolvers  covered  his  breast. 

277 


"Btop!" 

The  voice  was  oalm  and  steady,  but  full  of  deadly 
menace. 

Whitley  crouched  like  an  animal  at  bay.  The  hands 
that  held  the  weapons  never  trembled;  the  gray 
syes  that  looked  along  the  shining  barrels  never  wav- 
ered. Slowly  he  drew  back.  "Name  your  price,"  he 
said  sullenly. 

"You  have  not  money  enough  to  buy." 

"I  am  a  wealthy  man.'? 

"I  know  it." 

He  went  back  to  his  seat.  "For  God's  sake,  put 
down  those  guns  and  tell  me  what  you  want." 

"I  want  to  know  where  you  left  Miss  Goodrich." 

"What  if  I  refuse  to  tell  ?" 

Dick  laid  a  pair  of  handcuffs  upon  the  table. 

A  cunning  gleam  crept  into  Whitley's  eyes.  "You'll 
put  them  on  yourself  at  the  same  time.  The  evidence 
is  just  as  strong  against  you." 

"If  it  were  not,  I  would  have  turned  you  over  to 
the  law  long  ago." 

"But  you  fool,  they'll  hang  you." 

"That  won't  save  you,  and  you'll  answer  to  God 
for  another  murder." 

"You  would  not  dare." 

"I  am  innocent ;  you  are  the  coward." 

Then  Whitley  gave  up  and  told  how  he  had  met 
Amy  in  Jonesville,  and  had  taken  her  east  to  Buffalo, 

278 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

New  York,  where  he  had  left  her  just  before  return- 
ing to  Boyd  City. 

"Did  you  marry  her  ?"  asked  Dick. 

Whitley  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  am  not  look- 
ing for  a  wife,"  he  said. 

"But  was  there  no  form  of  a  ceremony  ?"  persisted 
Dick. 

Again  Jim  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It  was  not 
necessary." 

It  was  Dick's  turn  to  be  agitated  now;  his  hand 
played  nervously  on  the  handle  of  his  revolver.  But 
the  other  did  not  notice. 

"Why  did  you  leave  her  so  soon  ?" 

"I  had  business  of  importance  at  home,"  with  a 
sneer. 

Slowly  the  man  behind  the  table  rose  to  his  feet, 
his  form  trembling  violently,  his  strong  hands  clinch- 
ing and  unclinching  in  his  agitation.  Slowly  he 
reached  out  and  lifted  the  weapons  of  death  from  the 
table;  slowly  he  raised  them.  The  criminal  sat  as 
though  fascinated;  his  face  livid  with  fear.  For  a 
full  minute  the  revolver  covered  the  cowering  victim ; 
then  suddenly  Dick's  hand  fell. 

"Jim  Whitley,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
strangely  quiet.  "If  I  were  not  a  Christian,  you  could 
not  live  a  moment.  Now  go !"  He  followed  him  from 
the  room  and  watched  him  down  the  stairs ;  then  re- 
turning, locked  the  door  again,  and  throwing  him- 

279 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

self  on  the  floor,  wept  as  only  a  strong  man  can  weep, 
with  great  shuddering  sobs,  until  utterly  exhausted, 
he  fell  into  a  stupor,  where  George  found  him  in  the 
morning. 

Dick  told  his  employer  the  whole  story,  and  took 
the  first  train  east.  The  same  day,  Whitley  left  the 
city. 


280 


CHAPTER  XIX 


HITLEY'S  sudden  return  to  Boyd  City,  and 
his  departure  so  soon  after,  revived  some 
.whispering  gossip  about  Amy's  strange  dis- 
appearance,. And  of  course  the  matter  was  mentioned 
at  the  Ministerial  Association,  which  still  held  its  reg- 
ular Monday  morning  meetings.  Then,  as  was  na- 
tural, the  talk  drifted  to  the  much  discussed  topic, 
the  low  standard  of  morality  in  Boyd  City.  Old 
Father  Beason  said,  "Brethren,  I  tell  you  the  condi- 
tion of  things  in  this  town  is  just  awful.  I  walked 
down  Broadway  last  Saturday  night,  and  I  declare  I 
could  hardly  get  along.  I  actually  had  to  walk  out  in 
the  street,  there  was  such  a  crowd,  and  nearly  all  of 
them  young  men  and  young  women.  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  it ;  and  there  are  all  of  these  dives  always 
open,  and  always  full.  Candidly,  Brethren,  what  are 
we  doing  ?  I  just  tell  you  we  are  not  doing  one  thing. 
We  are  not  beginning  to  touch  the  problem.  It  costs 
just  all  we  oan  scrape  and  dig  to  keep  the  churches 
running,  and  so  far  as  I  know,  only  Brother  Cameron 
here  has  even  attempted  any  aggressive  work.  Breth 

283 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

ren,  I  wish  we  could  put  our  heads  together  and  for- 
mulate some  plan  that  would  stir  this  town  and  save 
our  boys  and  girls,  who  are  growing  up  in  utter  dis- 
respect for  Christianity  and  the  teaching  of  Christ.'* 

"What  we  want  here  is  a  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association,"  exclaimed  Rev.  Hugh  Cockrell.  "An 
Association  is  the  very  thing  for  a  town  like  this.  You 
all  know  how  it  operates.  It  don't  conflict  with  the 
work  of  the  churches  in  the  least.  It  furnishes  par- 
lor, sitting  room,  libraries,  gymnasium,  bath  rooms, 
and  all  such  things,  at  a  very  nominal  cost  to  young 
men.  As  I  have  said  in  our  meetings  before,  I  think 
we  ought  to  write  to  the  State  Secretary  and  get  him 
to  come  here  and  look  over  the  situation." 

"That's  all  right,  Brother  Cockrell,"  said  the  big 
Brother  Howell,  rising  to  his  feet  and  pushing  his 
hands  deep  into  his  pockets ;  for  the  big  minister  was 
lots  more  of  a  man  than  he  was  a  preacher,  and  put 
his  hands  into  his  pockets  when  he  chose,  without  any 
closely  buttoned,  clerical  cut  coat  to  prevent  him. 
"That's  all  right  about  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association.  It's  a  good  thing ;  a  splendid  thing ;  and 
I'd  like  to  see  one  started  here  in  Boyd  City;  but  a 
dozen  Associations  won't  meet  the  needs  of  this  place. 
Those  who  could  afford  to  pay  the  fee  would  enjoy 
the  parlors  and  baths ;  those  who  could  read  might  en- 
joy the  books ;  and  those  who  had  worked  in  the  mines 
digging  coal  all  day,  might  exercise  in  the  gym- 

284 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

nasium,  but  what  about  the  hundreds  of  young  men 
who  can't  afford  the  fees,  and  don't  want  a  parlor  so 
much  as  a  bite  to  eat,  or  a  gymnasium  so  much  as  a 
bed,  or  a  reading  room  so  much  as  a  job  of  work  ?  We 
need  something  in  this  town  that  will  reach  out  for 
the  ignorant,  fallen,  hard-up,  debauched,  degraded 
men  and  women." 

Father  Beason  nodded  emphatic  approval. 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  Rev.  Jeremiah 
Wilks,  "what  you  Brethren  are  going  to  do.  If  you 
hit  on  any  plan  to  raise  the  money  for  all  this,  I'd  like 
to  know  what  it  is.  I'm  going  night  and  day  now, 
trying  to  raise  the  debt  on  our  new  organ,  and  I've 
got  to  raise  our  benevolences  yet;  and  besides  this, 
my  own  salary  is  behind.  I'm  doing  more  work  than 
any  three  preachers  in  the  city.  I  tell  you,  the  men 
who  have  got  the  money  are  going  to  hang  on  to  it. 
There's  Mr.  Richman ;  I  met  him  on  the  street  yester- 
day ;  he  was  talking  with  a  friend ;  and  I  stopped  and 
said:  Good  morning,  Brother  Richman — he's  not  a 
member  of  any  church  you  know.  I  only  called  him 
Brother  to  make  him  feel  good  you  know.  He  said : 
Good  morning,  Reverend;  kind  of  short;  and  then 
deliberately  turned  his  back  on  me  and  went  on  talk- 
ing with  his  friend.  I  didn't  like  to  leave  him  like 
that,  you  know,  for  he's  got  a  lot  of  money,  I'm  told. 
And  you  know  we  preachers  never  would  get  anything 
if  we  always  quit  like  that ;  so  I  said,  Brother  Ricb- 

285 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

man,  I  don't  like  to  interrupt  you,  but  can't  you  give 
me  a  little  something  this  morning  ?  I'm  behind  on 
our  new  organ,  and  on  our  benevolences  and  some 
other  things,  and  my  own  salary  is  not  all  paid  yet.  I 
thought  maybe  you  would  help  me  a  little.  He  looked 
at  me  a  minute,  then  said  with  a  sneer :  'I  always  like 
to  know  what  returns  I  may  expect  for  the  money  I 
invest.  I'm  no  church  member,  that  I  have  money  to 
throw  away.  What  do  I  get  for  it  if  I  give  you  five 
dollars  f  Why,  I  said,  you  might  be  a  Christian  some 
day.  Brother  Richman,  I'd  like  mighty  well  to  have 
you  join  my  church.  We'll  all  pray  for  you  if  you'd 
like  to  have  us.  And  do  you  believe  it,  he  just  stood 
there  and  laughed  and  laughed ;  and  the  other  fellow, 
he  laughed  too.  Yes,  he  did.  Well,  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do  you  know,  but  I  wanted  that  five  dollars, 
so  I  said:  But  won't  you  help  us  a  little,  Brother 
Richman  ?  It  will  be  very  acceptable.  'I  tell  you, 
Mr.  Wilks,'  he  said ;  'when  you  can  show  me  that  my 
money  is  doing  some  actual  good  among  the  poor  peo- 
ple in  this  city,  or  that  it's  saving  the  young  folks 
from  the  degrading  influences  here,  I'll  invest;  and 
until  then,  I'll  keep  my  money,  and  you  can  keep  your 
prayers.'  And  do  you  know,  he  wouldn't  give  me  a 
cent."  The  Rev.  Jeremiah  sat  down  with  an  air  of 
mingled  triumph  and  suffering,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"See  how  gladly  I  bear  persecution  for  the  Lord." 
"I  understand  that  Mr.  Richman  gave  to  Cam- 
286 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

eron's  institution  though,"  the  big  preacher  remarked. 
"How  is  it  Brother  Cameron  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Cameron,  "he  gave  a  hundred  dol- 
lars unsolicited,  and  promised  more  if  it  were 
needed." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment ;  then  the  president 
said,  "Brother  Cameron,  would  you  mind  telling  the 
Association  just  how  your  work  is  conducted  ?  I  for 
one,  would  like  to  know  more  about  it,  and  perhaps 
we  could  all  adopt  a  similar  plan.  What  would  you 
suggest  as  a  remedy  for  the  existing  conditions  in  this 
city?" 

"As  far  as  our  work  goes,  we  have  hardly  touched 
the  matter  yet,"  replied  Cameron.  "There  is  room 
for  every  church  in  the  place;  but  what  we  need,  I 
feel  sure,  is  a  united  effort,  and — " 

"Brethren,"  interrupted  the  Rev.  Dr.  Frederick 
Hartzel,  "I  must  beg  that  this  useless  discussion  be 
stopped.  So  far  as  I  can  see,  all  of  this  is  of  no  profit 
whatever.  My  time  is  altogether  too  valuable  to  waste 
in  such  foolish  talk  as  this.  I  endeavor  to  put  some 
thought  into  my  sermons,  and  I  cannot  take  this  val- 
uable time  from  my  studies.  If  the  Association  per- 
sists in  taking  up  the  meetings  with  such  subjects,  in- 
stead of  discussing  some  of  the  recent  theological 
themes  that  are  attracting  the  attention  of  the  clergy 
everywhere,  I  must  beg  that  I  be  given  optional  at- 
tendance. These  new-fangled  notions  of  uneducated 

28T 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

young  men  may  be  all  right  for  some,  but  you  can't 
expect  such  men  as  myself  to  listen  to  them.  I  move 
that  we  adjourn." 

"Brother  Cameron  has  the  floor  and  I  think  the 
Brethren  would  like  to  hear  him,"  suggested  the  presi- 
dent. 

"Brother  President,"  said  Cameron,  calmly,  before 
the  others  could  speak,  for  he  saw  the  light  of  right- 
eous indignation  creeping  into  the  eye  of  the  big  Rev. 
Howells ;  "if  the  Brethren  wish  to  talk  with  me  of  our 
work,  they  know  that  they  are  always  welcome  at  my 
home;  and  I  will  be  glad  to  discuss  any  plan  for 
reaching  those  for  whom  our  Saviour  died.  I  second 
Rev.  Hartzell's  motion  to  adjourn."  And  the  meeting 
dismissed  with  prayer  as  usual,  that  God  would  fill 
their  hearts  with  love,  and  help  them  to  do  their  Mas- 
ter's work,  as  He  would  have  it  done,  and  that  many 
souls  might  be  added  to  their  number. 

That  evening,  lost  in  troubled  thought,  the  young 
pastor  of  the  Jerusalem  Church  sat  alone  before  the 
fire,  in  his  little  study.  Once  his  wife  knocked  tim- 
idly and  opening  the  door,  said,  "James,  dear,  it's 
time  you're  going  to  bed." 

"Not  now,  Fanny,"  he  answered ;  and  she,  knowing 
well  what  that  tone  of  voice  meant,  retired  to  her 
room,  after  seeing  everything  snug  for  the  night. 

The  cocks  were  crowing  midnight ;  the  fire  burned 
lower  and  lower.  Once  he  impatiently  hitched  his 

288 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

chair  a  little  closer,  but  made  no  other  move,  until, 
just  as  the  clock  chimed  three,  he  arose  stiffly  to  his 
feet  and  stood  shivering  with  cold,  looking  at  the 
blackened  embers.  Then  he  made  his  way  to  his 
chamber,  where  he  fell  asleep  like  a  man  tired  out 
with  a  hard  day's  work. 

All  the  next  day  he  said  nothing,  but  was  silent 
and  moody,  and  the  following  night  sat  once  more 
alone  in  his  study,  thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  until 
again  the  fire  went  out  and  he  was  cold. 

"Fanny,"  he  said,  the  following  afternoon,  entering 
the  kitchen  and  putting  his  arm  about  his  wife,  as  she 
stood  at  the  table  busy  with  her  baking.  "Fanny, 
what  can  we  do  for  the  young  people  of  Boyd  City  ? 
Amy  is  only  one  of  many.  It  is  all  the  result  of  the  do- 
nothing  policy  of  the  church,  and  of  the  Goodrich 
type  of  Christians,  who  think  more  of  their  social  po- 
sition than  they  do  of  the  souls  of  their  children,  or 
the  purity  of  their  characters." 

"Oh,  James,  you  oughtn't  to  say  that.  Mr.  Good- 
rich  may  not  look  at  those  things  as  you  do  perhaps, 
but  we  ought  to  remember  his  early  training." 

"Early  training,  bosh,"  answered  the  minister,  los- 
ing his  patience  as  even  ministers  will  sometimes  do. 
"You'd  better  say  his  lack  of  early  training.  I  tell  you, 
Fanny,  the  true  gentleman,  whether  he  be  Christian 
or  not,  values  character  more  than  position,  while  the 


289 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

sham  aristocrat  is  a  sham  in  everything,  and  doesn't 
even  know  the  real  article  when  he  sees  it." 

"Oh,  here,  here,"  cried  Mrs.  Cameron,  "that's  not 
the  way  for  a  preacher  to  talk." 

"Preacher  or  no  preacher,  it's  the  truth,"  he  re- 
plied excitedly.  "Let  me  forget  that  I  belong  to  the 
class  that  has  produced  such  a  thing  as  this  kind  of 
religion,  and  remember  that  I  am  only  a  man.  If  the 
ministers  in  this  city  cared  half  as  much  for  the  sal- 
vation of  souls  and  the  teaching  of  Christ,  as 
they  do  for  their  own  little  theories  and  doctrines,  the 
world  could  not  hold  such  a  churchified  hypocrite  as 
Adam  Goodrich,  and  girls  would  not  go  wrong  as  that 
poor  child  did.  The  Rev.  Hartzell,  D.  D.,  is  the 
cause ;  and  if  you  go  down  on  Fourth  Street,  or  East 
Third  you  can  see  the  effect;  egotism,  bigotry,  self- 
ishness, man-made  doctrines  and  creeds  in  the  pulpit ; 
saloons  and  brothels  on  the  street ;  church  doors  closed 
over  a  mawkish  sentimentality,  and  men  and  women 
dying  without  shelter  and  without  God.  Truly  we 
need  a  preacher,  with  a  wilderness  training  like  John 
the  Baptist  who  will  show  us  the  way  of  the  Lord, 
rather  than  a  thousand  theological,  hot-house  posies, 
who  will  show  us  only  the  opinions  of  the  authorities." 
And  the  Rev.  James  tramped  up  and  down  the 
kitchen,  speaking  with  all  the  vehemence  of  a  politi- 
cal spellbinder,  until  his  wife  caught  him  by  the  coat 
and  insisted  that  she  wanted  to  be  kissed.  When  that 

290 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

operation  was  successfully  performed,  she  said,  "Now 
run  away  to  your  study,  dear,  and  don't  bother  about 
this  just  now.  You're  excited."  And  the  preacher 
went,  of  course. 

1  Though  expressing  themselves  as  very  much 
alarmed  over  the  situation,  and  the  condition  of  the 
.churches,  the  members  of  the  Ministerial  Associa- 
tion went  no  farther  in  the  matter  than  the  discus- 
sions at  their  regular  meetings  and  private  talks 
from  time  to  time.  It  would  be  hard  to  give  a  reason 
why  this  was  so  if  Cameron's  criticism  were  not  true ; 
but  so  it  certainly  was.  Cameron,  however,  was  much 
wrought  up.  He  did  not  in  the  least  mind  the  Rev. 
Hartzell's  opinion  of  himself  or  his  work,  and  cared 
not  one  whit  that  he  had  been  prevented  from  expres- 
sing himself  to  his  brethren.  He  did  care,  however, 
for  the  work  itself,  regardless  of  the  preachers,  and 
the  train  of  thought  which  he  had  so  often  followed 
was  stirred  afresh  in  his  mind  by  the  incident.  With 
his  heart  so  full  of  the  matter  it  was  not  at  all  strange 
that  he  should  preach  another  of  his  characteristic 
sermons  on  what  he  called  "Applied  Christianity." 
His  house  was  crowded,  as  it  always  was  on  Sunday 
evenings,  largely  with  young  men  and  women,  though 
many  business  men  were  in  attendance. 

He  introduced  his  subject  by  showing  the  purpose 
and  duty  of  the  church :  that  it  was  not  a  social  club, 
not  simply  a  place  to  see  and  be  seen,  not  a  musical 

291 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

organization,  and  not  an  intellectual  battlefield;  but 
that  it  was  a  place  to  build  Clirist-lil:e  characters,  and 
that  the  church  had  no  excuse  for  living,  save  as  it 
preached  Christ's  gospel  and  did  His  work.  Then 
he  asked,  "Is  the  church  doing  this  P  and  called  at- 
tention to  the  magnificent  buildings,  expensive 
organs,  paid  choirs,  large-salaried  preachers,  and  in 
the  same  city  hundreds  and  thousands  of  men  and 
women  who  were  going  to  eternal  ruin.  "Did  Christ 
make  a  mistake  when  he  said,  'And  I,  if  I  be  lifted 
up,  will  draw  all  men  unto  myself  ?'  Or  was  it  that 
men  were  lifting  up  themselves  instead  of  the 
Master  P 

He  showed  that  the  reason  why  more  laborers  and 
business  men  were  not  Christians  was  because  Chris- 
tianity had  become,  not  a  work,  but  a  belief;  that  it 
had  grown  to  be,  not  a  life,  but  a  sentiment ;  and  that 
laborers  and  business  men  had  not  much  place  for  be- 
liefs and  sentiments.  "The  church/'  said  Cameron, 
"must  prove  herself  by  her  works  as  did  Christ,  and 
her  work  must  be  the  same  as  Christ's." 

It  caused  a  great  deal  of  talk,  of  course.  No 
preacher  can  branch  out  from  the  old,  well-beaten 
paths,  without  creating  talk.  He  was  roundly  scored 
by  his  Brethren  in  the  ministry,  and  accused  of  all 
sorts  of  sensationalism,  but  bore  it  all  without  a  word, 
except  to  say,  "I  am  glad  if  I  can  even  stir  you  up 
enough  that  you  will  condemn  me;  though  I  cannot 

292 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

help  but  think  that  if  you  would  spend  the  same 
energy  in  remedying  the  evils  you  well  know  exist, 
you  would  do  ii.ore  for  Christ  and  your  fellow  men." 
But  to  his  wife  he  said,  "Fanny,  I  am  convinced  that 
if  we  ever  have  a  practical  working  plan  for  helping 
the  poor  and  needy,  and  for  the  protection  of  the  boys 
and  girls  in  this  city,  on  a  scale  sufficient  to  at  all 
meet  the  needs,  it  will  come  from  the  citizens  and  not 
from  the  preachers.  The  world  really  believes  in 
Christ,  but  has  lost  confidence  in  the  church.  And  if 
some  plan  could  be  started,  independent  of  the 
churches,  but  on  a  Christian  basis,  I  believe  it  would 
succeed." 

"Well,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  smile,  "I  think  I 
know  one  preacher  who  will  have  a  hand  in  it  any- 
way, and  I  know  you  do  not  include  the  Young  Peo- 
ple's Society  with  the  church." 

Cameron  jumped  to  his  feet  and  walked  rapidly  up 
and  down  the  room.  "Fanny,"  he  said  at  last,  facing 
his  companion.  And  as  he  stood,  with  both  hands  in 
the  side  pockets  of  his  short  coat,  and  his  feet  braced 
wide  apart,  he  looked  so  much  a  boy  that  the  good 
wife  laughed  before  she  answered,  "Yes  sir,  please, 
what  have  I  done  ?" 

"Do  you  know  that  I  am  to  speak  at  the  regular 
union  meeting  of  the  Yonng  People  next  Sunday 
night  ?» 

<rYes  sir,"  meekly. 

293 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"And  you  know  that  the  subject  of  the  evening  is, 
"Reaching  the  Masses." 

She  nodded. 

"And  do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do  V9 

"No  sir." 

"Well,  just  wait  and  see,"  and  planting  a  kiss  on 
the  upturned  lips,  he  ran  off  to  shut  himself  up  in  his 
study. 

The  practical  Christian  work  of  the  home  estab- 
lished by  the  young  people  of  the  Jerusalem  Church, 
and  the  remarkable  success  of  the  reading  rooms,  was 
proving  a  great  educational  factor  in  the  life  of 
Boyd  City.  The  people  were  beginning  to  realize  the 
value  of  such  work,  and  the  time  was  ripe  for  larger 
things.  Aa  has  been  said,  Cameron's  sermon  caused 
no  little  talk,  while  the  preachers  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  help  the  matter  along,  and  to  keep  the  pot  boil- 
ing by  the  fire  of  their  criticism. 

It  was  a  custom  of  the  Young  People's  Societies  in 
the  city,  to  meet  for  union  services  once  each  month, 
at  which  time  one  of  the  pastors  would  speak  on  some 
topic  of  particular  interest  to  young  Christians,  deal- 
ing with  social,  civil,  or  political  questions,  from  the 
standpoint  of  Christianity,  and  this  happened  to  be 
Cameron's  turn  to  deliver  the  address.  The  young 
pastor  was  a  favorite  generally,  in  spite  of  his  some- 
what questionable  standing  with  the  theologians;  so 
when  it  was  announced  that  he  would  speak,  and  that 

294 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

the  subject  was  one  upon  which  he  was  known  to  hare 
strong  ideas,  the  public  looked  forward  to  the  meet- 
ing with  more  than  usual  interest.  When  the  time 
came,  the  Zion  Church,  which  was  the  largest  in  the 
city,  was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity. 

Cameron  began  by  reading  from  the  twenty-fifth 
chapter  of  Matthew,  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it 
unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  my  Brethren,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  me." 

Then  he  said  that  as  his  talk  was  in  no  way  to  be 
a  sermon,  he  felt  free  to  give  himself  more  liberty 
perhaps,  than  if  he  were  in  the  pulpit;  and  that  he 
would  discuss  the  question  not  simply  from  the  stand- 
point of  Christianity,  but  of  good  citizenship,  and 
the  best  interests  of  the  people  as  well. 

The  audience  settled  itself  at  these  words  and 
waited  breathlessly. 

The  speaker  then  laid  down  the  proposition,  that 
the  question  of  reaching  the  masses,  did  not  have  to 
do  simply  with  those  who  called  themselves  Chris- 
tians, but  with  all  society,  all  business,  all  govern- 
ment; in  fact,  with  all  that  touched  mankind.  He 
showed  how  the  conditions  of  the  least  of  these  gave 
rise  to  bad  conditions  everywhere,  and  bred  crime, 
anarchy  and  animalism ;  and  how  that  the  physical, 
moral  and  intellectual  life  of  all  men  is  concerned. 
Then  he  took  his  hearers  from  street  to  street  in  their 
own  city,  bidding  them  to  look  at  the  young  men  and 

295 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

\romen  on  the  corners,  in  the  saloons  and  wine  rooms, 
and  asked,  without  any  reference  to  Christianity  in 
any  way,  "What  will  be  the  legitimate  fruit  of  such 
sowing  ?  What  influence  are  we  throwing  about  our 
boys  and  girls,  and  upon  what  foundation  are  we 
building  our  social,  business  and  municipal  life  ?" 

Then  turning  to  Christians,  he  reviewed  the  grand 
work  that  the  church  had  done  in  the  past,  in  mould- 
ing the  lives  of  men  and  nations ;  and  plead  that  she 
prove  true  to  the  past  by  rising  to  the  present  and 
meeting  the  problems  of  to-day.  He  called  upon  them 
in  the  name  of  their  common  Master,  to  put  their 
minds  to  this  question  and  to  rest  not  from  their  study 
until  a  practical  solution  had  been  found.  He  urged, 
too,  that  those  standing  outside  the  church  with  idle 
hands,  content  to  criticize  and  condemn,  were  not  do- 
ing even  so  much  as  the  institution  with  which  they 
refused  to  stand  identified.  "I  can  see  no  difference," 
he  said,  "and  before  God,  I  believe  there  is  none,  be- 
tween an  idle  church  member  and  a  do-nothing  man 
of  the  world.  They  both  stand  on  the  same  plane, 
and  that  plane  is  the  plane  of  death." 

Then,  after  an  earnest  appeal  that  the  teaching  of 
Jesus  be  applied,  that  the  worth  of  souls  be  judged  by 
the  price  paid  on  Calvary,  and  that  all  men,  within 
and  without  the  church,  unite  for  the  common  cause, 
humanity;  lie  turned  suddenly  to  the  chairman  and 
said :  "Mr.  President,  because  of  these  things  regard- 

296 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

ing  the  church,  which  all  men  know  to  be  true ;  be- 
cause of  these  things  regarding  our  city,  which  all 
men  know  to  be  true ;  for  the  sake  of  Christ  and  His 
gospel,  for  the  sake  of  our  country  and  our  laws,  for 
the  love  of  our  boys  and  girls,  I  suggest  that  each 
society  in  this  union  appoint  a  committee  of  three 
from  their  membership,  each  of  these  committees  to 
add  to  itself  one  good  business  man  who  believes  in 
the  teaching  of  Christ,  but  who  is  not  connected  with 
any  church;  the  joint  committee  to  meet  in  council 
for  the  purpose  of  formulating  some  plan  to  meet  the 
needs  of  this  city  along  the  lines  of  our  subject  this 
evening." 

At  this  strange  and  unexpected  ending  of  Cam- 
eron's address,  the  audience  sat  astonished.  Then, 
from  all  over  the  house,  voices  were  heard  murmuring 
approval  of  the  plan. 

Rev.  Jeremiah  Wilks  was  the  first  to  speak.  "I'm 
heartily  in  favor  of  the  suggestion,"  he  said.  "I 
think  it's  a  good  thing.  It  will  get  some  of  our 
moneyed  men  interested  in  the  church  and  it  will  do 
them  good.  I've  often  told  our  people  that  something 
like  this  ought  to  be  done,  and  I  know  the  preachers 
of  the  city  will  be  glad  to  take  hold  of  the  matter  and 
help  to  push  it  along.  I'll  bring  it  before  our  Minis- 
terial Association.  You  can  count  on  me  every  time." 

"But,  Mr.  President,"  said  a  strange  gentleman, 
when  Rev.  Wilks  had  resumed  his  seat,  "Is  it  the 

297 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

idea  of  the  gentleman  who  suggests  this  plan,  that  the 
movement  be  under  the  control  of  or  managed  by  the 
ministers  ?" 

A  painful  hush  fell  over  the  audience.  The  presi- 
dent turned  to  Cameron,  who  answered,  "It  is  cer- 
tainly not  my  idea  that  this  matter  be  placed  in  the 
hands  of  the  ministers;  whatever  part  they  have  in 
the  movement  must  be  simply  as  Christian  citizens  of 
this  community,  without  regard  to  their  profession." 

The  audience  smiled.  Rev.  Frederick  Hartzel  waa 
on  his  feet  instantly :  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  must 
protest.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  your  young  brother 
here  means  well,  but  perhaps  some  of  us,  with  more 
experience,  and  with  more  mature  thought,  are  better 
able  to  handle  this  great  question.  Such  a  plan  as  he 
has  proposed  is  preposterous.  A  committee  without 
an  ordained  minister  on  it,  thinking  to  start  any 
movement  in  harmony  with  the  teaching  of  Christ  is 
utter  folly.  It  is  a  direct  insult  to  the  clergy,  who, 
as  you  know,  compose  the  finest  body  of  men,  intel- 
lectually and  morally,  in  the  country.  I  must  insist 
that  the  regularly  ordained  ministers  of  the  city  be 
recognized  on  this  committee." 

Rev.  Hugh  Cockrell  agreed  with  Hartzel,  in  a 
short  speech,  and  then  Uncle  Bobbie  Wicks  obtained 
a  hearing. 

"I  don't  reckon  that  there's  much  danger  of 
Brother  Hartzel's  amendment  goin'  through,  but  I 

298 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

just  want  a  word  anyhow.  To-be-sure,  you  all  know 
me,  and  that  I'm  a  pretty  good  friend  to  preachers." 
The  audience  laughed.  "I  aint  got  a  thing  in  the 
world  agin  'em.  To-be-sure,  I  reckon  a  preacher  is 
as  good  as  any  other  feller,  so  long  as  he  behaves 
himself;  but  seein'  as  they've  been  tryin'  fer  'bout 
two  thousand  years  to  fix  this  business,  an'  aint  done 
nothin'  yet,  I  think  it's  a  mighty  good  ide'  to  give  the 
poor  fellers  a  rest,  and  let  the  Christians  try  it  fer  a 
spell." 

'Tfou've  got  to  recognize  the  church,  sir,"  cried 
Hartzel;  and  Dncle  Bobbie  retorted:  "Well,  if  we 
recognize  Christ,  the  church  will  come  in  all  right,  I 
reckon ;"  which  sentiment  so  pleased  the  people  that 
Cameron's  suggestion  was  acted  upon. 

And  thus  began  the  movement  that  revolutionized 
Boyd  City  and  made  it  an  example  to  all  the  world, 
for  honest  manhood,  civic  pride  and  municipal  virtue. 


CHAPTER  XX, 


EN  Amy  Goodrich  went  to  her  room  after 
the  scene  with  her  brutal  father,  wounded 
pride,  anger  at  his  injustice,  and  reckless 
defiance  filled  her  heart.  Mrs.  Goodrich  had  heard 
the  harsh  words  and  quickly  followed  her  daughter, 
but  the  door  was  locked.  When  she  called  softly 
for  admittance,  Amy  only  answered  between  her  sobs, 
"No,  no,  mamma ;  please  go  away.  I  want  to  be  alone." 
But  the  girl  did  not  spend  much  time  in  weeping. 
With  a  look  of  determination  upon  her  tear-stained 
face,  she  caught  up  a  daily  paper  that  was  lying 
where  she  had  dropped  it  that  morning,  and  carefully 
studied  time-cards,  Then  removing  as  far  as  possible 
the  evidence  of  her  grief,  she  changed  her  dress  for  a 
more  simple  and  serviceable  gown,  and  gathering  to- 
gether a  few  necessary  articles,  packed  them,  with  her 
jewelry,  in  a  small  satchel.  She  had  finished  her  sim- 
ple preparations  and  was  just  writing  the  last  word 
of  her  brief  farewell  message,  when  Mrs.  Goodrich 
came  quietly  to  the  door  again. 

Amy  started  to  her  feet  in  alarm  when  she  heard 
303 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

the  low  knock,  and  then  as  she  listened  to  her  mother's 
voice  softly  calling  her  name,  the  hot  tears  filled  her 
eyes  once  more,  and  she  moved  as  though  to  destroy 
the  note  in  her  hand.  But  as  she  hesitated,  her 
father's  words  came  back:  "You  may  have  your 
tramp,  but  don't  call  me  father.  You  are  no  daughter 
of  mine,"  and  a  cruel  something  seemed  to  arrest  her 
better  impulse  and  force  her  to  remain  silent. 

Mrs.  Goodrich,  when  she  received  no  answer  to  her 
call,  thought  that  her  daughter  was  sleeping,  and 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  went  to  her  own  room.  A  little 
later,  the  father  came  upstairs  and  retired.  Then 
Frank  returned  home,  and  the  trembling  listener 
heard  the  servants  locking  up  the  house.  When  all 
was  still,  and  her  watch  told  her  that  it  was  a  few 
minutes  past  midnight,  she  carefully  opened  the  door, 
and  with  her  satchel  in  her  hand,  stole  cautiously 
down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house.  Hurrying  as 
fast  as  she  could  to  Broadway,  she  found  a  cab,  and 
was  driven  to  the  depot  on  the  east  side. 

As  Amy  stepped  from  the  vehicle  beneath  the  elec- 
tric light  and  paused  a  moment  to  give  the  driver  his 
fare,  a  man  came  out  of  a  saloon  on  the  corner  near- 
by. It  was  Mr.  Whitley.  He  recognized  the  girl 
instantly,  and  springing  to  one  side,  drew  back 
into  the  shadow  of  the  building,  where  he  waited 
until  she  went  to  the  ticket  office.  Then  going  quickly 
to  the  open  window  of  the  waiting  room,  he  heard  her 

304 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

ask  for  a  ticket  to  Jonesville.  After  the  train  had 
pulled  in  and  he  had  watched  her  aboard,  he  entered 
the  cab  that  had  brought  her  to  the  station,  and  was 
driven  to  his  hotel. 

The  next  morning  Whitley  was  the  first  to  learn 
from  Frank  Goodrich,  of  Amy's  quarrel  with  her 
father,  and  the  reason.  Without  a  word  of  what 
he  had  seen,  he  made  hurried  preparation  and  fol- 
lowed her  on  the  next  train. 

At  Jonesville,  he  easily  made  the  rounds  of  the 
hotels  and  carefully  examined  the  registers,  but 
Amy's  name  was  on  none  of  them.  Concluding  that 
she  must  be  at  the  home  of  some  friend,  he  had  placed 
bis  own  name  on  the  last  book  he  examined,  and  seated 
himself  to  think  over  the  situation,  when  he  heard  a 
bell-boy  say:  "That  girl  in  number  sixteen  wants  a 
'Frisco'  time-table." 

Whitley  lounged  carelessly  up  to  the  counter  and 
again  glanced  over  the  register.  Number  sixteen  was 
occupied  by  a  Miss  Anderson.  Catching  the  eye  of 
the  clerk,  he  placed  his  finger  on  the  name  and 
winked.  <rWhen  did  she  get  in  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  low 
tone,  at  the  same  time  slipping  a  gold-piece  beneath 
the  open  page. 

"On  the  one-thirty  from  the  west,  last  night,"  the 
fellow  replied,  in  the  same  cautious  manner,  as  he 
whirled  the  book  toward  him  and  deftly  transferred 


305 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

the  coin  to  his  own  pocket,  without  attracting  the  at- 
tention of  the  landlord  who  stood  near  by. 

"I  believe  I'll  go  to  my  room  and  clean  up,"  said 
Whitley,  a  moment  later. 

"Show  this  gentleman  to  number  fifteen,"  promptly 
called  the  clerk,  and  Whitley  followed  the  boy  who 
had  answered  Miss  Anderson's  call  upstairs. 

When  he  had  placed  the  heavy  grip  on  the  floor,  the 
boy  turned  to  see  Whitley  holding  out  a  dollar  bill. 

"Did  you  get  a  look  at  the  lady  in  number  sixteen, 
when  you  went  up  with  that  time-card  ?" 

"Course  I  did." 

"Can  you  describe  her  ?" 

"You  bet,  mister;  she's  a  daisy  too."  And  as  he 
folded  the  bill  and  carefully  placed  it  in  his  vest 
pocket,  he  gave  an  accurate  description  of  Amy. 

Whitley  dismissed  the  boy  and  seated  himself  to 
watch  through  the  half -closed  door,  the  room  across 
the  hall.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Amy  stepped 
out  into  the  corridor  and  started  toward  the  stairway. 
In  an  instant  Whitley  was  by  her  side.  The  girl 
gave  a  start  of  surprise  and  uttered  a  frightened  ex- 
clamation. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Miss  Goodrich,  I  have  very 
important  news  for  you  from  home.  Step  into  the 
parlor  please." 

Too  bewildered  to  do  other  than  obey,  she  followed 

bim. 

306 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"I  have  been  searching  for  you  all  day,"  he  said, 
as  he  conducted  her  to  a  seat  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
empty  room. 

Amy  tried  to  look  indignant  and  started  to  reply 
(when  he  interrupted  her. 

<rWait  a  moment,  please,  Miss  Goodrich,  and  hear 
me,  before  you  condemn."  When  your  father  dis- 
covered this  morning,  that  you  had  left  home,  he  came 
at  once  to  me  and  told  me  the  whole  story.  I  tried 
to  explain  to  him  that  it  was  I,  and  not  Falkner,  who 
had  been  with  you,  but  he  would  not  listen;  and  in 
spite  of  my  pleading,  declared  that  you  should  never 
enter  his  home  again.  I  am  sorry,  but  he  is  very 
angry  and  I  fear  will  keep  his  word,  for  a  time  at 
least.  He  even  accused  me  of  telling  falsehoods  to 
shield  you,  and  insisted  that  I  should  forget  you  for- 
ever and  never  mention  your  name  in  his  hearing 
again.  I  learned  at  the  depot  that  you  had  purchased 
a  ticket  to  this  city,  and  took  the  first  train,  hoping  to 
find  and  offer  you  any  assistance  that  might  be  in 
my  power  to  give.  A  girl  in  your  position  needs  a 
friend,  for  you  cannot  go  home  just  now." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Amy  was  touched  by  the  words 
?poken  with  such  seeming  truth  and  earnestness,  but 
her  heart  was  filled  with  anger  at  her  father,  and  her 
lace  was  hard  and  set  as  she  replied  coldly :  "I  thank 
you,  but  you  might  have  saved  yourself  the  trouble. 

'  ve  no  wish  to  go  home." 
307 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Indeed,  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  feel  differently 
under  the  circumstances,"  admitted  the  other  with 
apparent  reluctance;  "but  have  you  thought  of  the 
future  ?  What  can  you  do  ?  You  have  never  been 
dependent  upon  yourself.  You  know  nothing  of  the 
world." 

Amy's  face  grew  white.  Seeing  his  advantage, 
Whitley  continued,  drawing  a  dark  picture  of  a  young 
woman  without  friends  or  means  of  support.  At 
last,  as  he  talked,  Amy  began  to  cry.  Then  his  voice 
grew  tender.  "Miss  Goodrich — Amy — come  to  me. 
Be  my  wife.  I  have  long  loved  you.  I  will  teach 
you  to  love  me.  Let  me  comfort  and  protect  you." 

The  girl  lifted  her  head.  "You  dare  ask  that  after 
what  happened  the  other  night  ?" 

"God  knows  how  I  regret  that  awful  mistake,"  he 
replied  earnestly.  "But  you  know  I  was  not  myself. 
I  am  no  worse  than  other  men,  and — "  He  hesitated 
— "you  must  remember  that  it  was  through  you  that 
I  drank  too  much.  I  could  not  refuse  when  you  gave 
me  the  glass.  I  never  was  intoxicated  before.  Won't 
you  forgive  me  this  once  and  let  me  devote  my  life 
to  righting  the  wrong  ?" 

Amy's  eyes  fell.  The  seeming  justice  and  truth 
of  his  words  impressed  her. 

Again  the  man  saw  his  advantage  and  talked  to 
her  of  the  life  his  wealth  would  help  her  to  live.  She 
be  free  from  every  care.  They  would  travel 
303 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

abroad  until  her  father  had  forgotten  his  wrath,  and 
could  she  doubt  that  all  would  be  well  when  she  re- 
turned as  his  wife  ?" 

Amy  hesitated,  and  again  he  pointed  out  the  awful 
danger  of  her  trying  to  live  alone.  As  he  talked,  the 
girl's  utter  helplessness  overcame  her,  and  rising  to 
her  feet  she  faltered,  "Give  me  time  to  think ;  I  will 
come  to  you  here  in  an  hour." 

When  she  returned  she  said:  "Mr.  Whitley,  I 
will  marry  you ;  but  my  people  must  not  know  until 
later." 

Whitley  started  toward  her  eagerly,  but  she  stepped 
back.  "Not  now.  Wait.  We  will  go  east  on  the 
evening  train  and  will  take  every  precaution  to  hide 
our  course.  We  will  travel  in  separate  cars  as  strang- 
ers, and  while  stopping  at  hotels  will  register  under 
assumed  names,  and  will  not  even  recognize  each 
other.  When  we  reach  New  York,  I  will  become 
your  wife." 

Whitley  could  scarcely  conceal  his  triumph;  that 
she  should  so  fully  play  into  his  hand  was  to  him  the 
greatest  good  luck.  With  every  expression  of  love 
he  agreed  to  everything;  but  when  he  would  em- 
brace her  she  put  him  away — "Not  until  we  are  mar- 
ried ;"  and  he  was  compelled  to  be  satisfied. 

For  a  while  longer  they  talked,  completing  their 
plans.  Then  drawing  out  his  pocket-book  he  said : 
"By-the-way,  you  will  need  money."  But  she  shook 

309 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

her  head:  "Not  until  I  have  the  right.  Here  are 
my  jewels ;  sell  them  for  me." 

He  protested  and  laughed  at  her  scruples.  But 
she  insisted.  And  at  last,  he  took  the  valuables  and 
left  the  hotel.  Going  to  a  bank  where  he  was  known, 
he  drew  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  returning,  placed 
a  roll  of  bills  in  her  hand.  Thinking  that  it  was  the 
price  of  her  rings,  she  accepted  it  without  the  slight- 
est question. 

That  night,  he  bought  a  ticket  for  Chicago,  over 
the  Wabash  from  St.  Louis,  taking  a  chair  car,  while 
she  purchased  one  for  a  little  town  on  the  Alton,  and 
traveled  in  a  sleeper.  But  at  St.  Louis,  they  re- 
mained two  days,  stopping  at  a  hotel  agreed  upon, 
but  as  strangers.  Then  they  again  took  tickets  for 
different  stations,  over  another  road,  but  stopped  at 
Detroit.  It  was  here  that  Amy's  suspicions  were 
aroused. 

She  was  sitting  at  dinner,  when  Whitley  entered 
the  dining  room  with  two  traveling  men  who  seemed 
to  be  well  acquainted  with  him.  The  trio,  laughing 
and  talking  boisterously,  seated  themselves  at  a  table 
behind  her.  Recognizing  Whitley's  voice,  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  a  mirror  opposite,  and  to  her  horror,  dis- 
tinctly saw  him  point  her  out  to  his  friends. 

Amy's  dinner  remained  untasted,  and  hiding  her 
confusion  as  best  she  could,  she  rose  to  leave  the  room. 
As  she  passed  the  table  where  Whitley  and  the  men 

310 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

were  eating,  the  two  drummers  looked  at  her  in  suck 
a  way  that  the  color  rushed  to  her  pale  cheeks  in  a 
crimson  flame.  Later,  at  the  depot,  she  saw  them 
again,  and  was  sure,  from  Whitley's  manner,  that  he 
had  been  drinking. 

Once  more  aboard  the  train,  the  girl  gave  herself 
up  to  troubled  thought.  Worn  out  by  the  long  jour' 
ney  under  such  trying  circumstances,  and  the  lonely 
hours  among  strangers  at  the  hotels,  and  now  thor- 
oughly frightened  at  the  possible  outcome  when  they 
reached  New  York,  the  poor  child  worried  herself 
into  such  a  state  that  when  they  left  the  cars  at  Buf- 
falo, Whitley  became  frightened,  and  in  spite  of  her 
protests,  registered  at  the  hotel  as  her  brother  and 
called  in  a  physician. 

The  doctor  at  once  insisted  that  she  be  removed 
to  a  boarding  place,  where  she  could  have  per- 
fect rest  and  quiet,  and  with  his  help,  such  a  place 
was  found;  Whitley,  as  her  brother,  making  all  ar- 
rangements. 

For  three  weeks  the  poor  girl  lay  between  life  and 
death,  and  strangely  enough,  in  her  delirium,  called 
not  once  for  father  or  mother  or  brother,  but  always 
for  Dick,  and  always  begged  him  to  save  her  from 
some  great  danger.  Whitley  was  at  the  house  every 
day,  and  procured  her  every  attention  that  money 
could  buy.  But  when  at  last  she  began  to  mend, 


311 


something  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him,  made 
him  curse  beneath  his  breath. 

Day  after  day  she  put  him  off  when  he  urged  mar- 
riage, saying  "When  we  get  to  New  York."  But  at 
last  the  time  came  when  she  could  offer  no  excuse 
for  longer  delay,  and  in  a  few  firm  words  she  told 
him  that  she  could  not  keep  her  promise,  telling  him 
why  and  begging  his  forgiveness  if  she  wronged  him. 

Then  the  man's  true  nature  showed  itself  and  he 
cursed  her  for  being  a  fool ;  taunted  her  with  using 
his  money,  and  swore  that  he  would  force  her  to 
come  to  him. 

That  afternoon,  the  landlady  came  to  her  room, 
and  placing  a  letter  in  her  hand,  asked,  "Will  you 
please  be  kind  enough  to  explain  that  ?" 

Amy  read  the  note,  which  informed  the  lady  of 
the  house  that  her  boarder  was  a  woman  of  ques- 
tionable character,  and  that  the  man  who  was  paying 
her  bills  was  not  her  brother.  With  a  sinking  heart, 
Amy  saw  that  the  writing  was  Jim  Whitley's.  Her 
face  flushed  painfully.  "I  did  not  know  that  he  was 
paying  my  bills/'  she  said,  slowly. 

"Then  it  is  true,"  exclaimed  the  woman.  "He  is 
not  your  brother  ?" 

Amy  was  silent.  She  could  find  no  words  to  ex- 
plain. 

"You  must  leave  this  house  instantly.    If  it  were 


312 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

not  for  the  publicity  I  would  hand  you  over  to  the 
police." 

She  went  to  a  cheap,  but  respectable  hotel,  and  the 
next  morning,  Whitley,  who  had  not  lost  sight  of  her, 
.managed  to  force  an  interview. 

"Will  you  come  to  me  now  ?"  he  asked.  "You  see 
what  you  may  expect  from  the  world." 

Her  only  reply  was,  "I  will  take  my  own  life  before 
I  would  trust  it  in  your  hands."  And  he,  knowing 
that  she  spoke  the  truth,  left  her  to  return  to  Boyd 
City. 

A  few  days  later,  when  Dick  Falkner  stepped 
from  the  cars  at  Buffalo,  and  hurried  through  the 
depot  toward  the  hack  that  bore  the  name  of  the 
hotel  where  Whitley  had  left  Amy,  he  did  not  notice 
that  the  girl  he  had  come  so  far  to  find,  was  stand- 
ing at  the  window  of  the  ticket  office,  and  while  the 
proprietor  of  the  hotel  was  explaining  why  Miss 
Wheeler  had  left  his  house,  the  west-bound  train  was 
carrying  Amy  toward  Cleveland. 

Whitley  had  written  a  letter  to  the  landlord,  ex- 
plaining the  character  of  the  woman  calling  herself 
Miss  Wheeler,  and  had  just  dropped  it  in  the  box, 
when  Dick  met  him  in  the  post  office  on  the  day  of 
Jim's  arrival  home. 

With  the  aid  of  the  Buffalo  police,  Dick  searched 
long  and  carefully  for  the  missing  girl,  but  with  no 
results,  and  at  last,  his  small  savings  nearly  ex- 

313 


hausted,  he  was  forced  to  return  to  Boyd  City,  where 
he  arrived  just  in  time  to  take  an  active  part  in  the 
new  movement  inaugurated  by  Rev.  Cameron  and 
the  Young  People's  Union. 

In  Cleveland,  Amy  sought  out  a  cheap  lodging 
house,  for  she  realized  that  her  means  were  limited, 
and  began  a  weary  search  for  employment. 

Day  after  day  she  went  from  place  to  place  answer- 
ing advertisements  for  positions  which  she  thought 
she  could  fill.  Walking  all  she  could  she  took  a  car 
only  when  her  strength  failed,  but  always  met  with 
the  same  result;  a  cold  dismissal  because  she  could 
give  no  references ;  not  a  kind  look ;  not  an  encourag- 
ing word ;  not  a  helpful  smile.  As  the  days  went  by, 
her  face  grew  hard  and  her  eyes  had  a  hopeless,  de- 
fiant look,  that  still  lessened  her  chances  of  success, 
and  gave  some  cause  for  the  suspicious  glances  she 
encountered  on  every  hand,  though  her  features 
showed  that  under  better  circumstances  she  would  be 
beautiful. 

One  evening  as  she  stood  on  the  street  corner, 
tired  out,  shivering  in  the  sharp  wind,  confused  by 
the  rush  and  roar  of  the  city,  and  in  doubt  as  to  the 
car  she  should  take,  a  tall,  beautifully  dressed  woman 
stopped  by  her  side,  waiting  also  for  a  car. 

Amy,  trembling,  asked  if  she  would  direct  her. 
The  lady  looked  at  her  keenly  as  she  gave  the  needed 


314 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

information,  and  then  added  kindly,  "You  are  evi- 
dently not  acquainted  in  Cleveland." 

Amy  admitted  that  she  was  a  stranger. 

"And  where  is  your  home  ?" 

"I  have  none,"  was  the  sad  reply. 

"You  are  stopping  with  friends,  I  suppose  ?" 

Amy  shook  her  head  and  faltered,  "No,  I  know  no 
one  in  the  city." 

The  woman  grew  very  kind.  "You  poor  child," 
she  said,  "you  look  as  though  you  were  in  distress. 
Can't  I  help  you  V 

Tears  filled  the  brown  eyes  that  were  lifted  plead- 
ingly to  the  face  of  the  questioner,  and  a  dry  sob 
was  the  only  answer. 

"Come  with  me,  dear,"  said  the  woman,  taking 
her  kindly  by  the  arm.  "This  is  my  car.  Come  and 
let  me  help  you." 

They  boarded  the  car,  and  after  a  long  ride,  entered 
a  finely  furnished  house  in  a  part  of  the  city  far  from 
Amy's  boarding  place.  The  woman  took  Amy  to  her 
own  apartments,  and  after  giving  her  a  clean  bath 
and  a  warm  supper,  sat  with  her  before  the  fire,  while 
the  girl  poured  out  her  story  to  the  only  sympathetic 
listener  she  had  met 

When  she  had  finished,  the  woman  said,  "You 
have  not  told  me  your  name." 

"You  may  call  me  Amy.     I  have  no  other  name." 

Again  the  woman  spoke  slowly :  "You  eannot  find 
315 


THAT  PKI^TER  OF  UDELL'S 

work.  Xo  one  will  receive  you.  But  why  should  you 
care  ?  You  are  beautiful." 

Amy  looked  at  her  in  wonder,  and  the  woman  ex- 
plained how  she  had  many  girls  in  her  home,  who 
with  fine  dresses  and  jewels,  lived  a  life  of  ease  and 
luxury. 

At  last  the  girl  understood  and  with  a  shudder, 
rose  to  her  feet.  "Madam,  I  thank  you  for  your  kind- 
ness ;  for  you  have  been  kind ;  but  I  cannot  stop  here." 
She  started  toward  the  door,  but  the  woman  stopped 
her. 

"My  dear  child ;  you  cannot  go  out  at  this  time  of 
night  again,  and  you  could  never  find  your  way  back 
to  your  lodging  place.  Stay  here.  You  need  not 
leave  this  room,  and  you  may  bolt  the  door  on  this 
side.  Tomorrow  you  may  go  if  you  will." 

Amy  could  do  nothing  but  stay.  As  she  laid 
her  tired  head  on  the  clean  pillow  that  night,  and 
nestling  in  the  warm  blankets  watched  the  firelight 
as  the  flames  leaped  and  played,  she  heard  the  sound 
of  music  and  merry  voices,  and  thought  of  the  cold, 
poorly-furnished  bed-room,  with  coarse  sheets  and 
soiled  pillows,  at  her  lodging  place,  and  of  the  weary 
tramp  about  the  streets,  and  the  unkind  faces  that 
refused  her  a  chance  for  life.  What  would  the  end 
be  when  her  money  was  gone,  she  wondered ;  and 
after  all,  why  not  this  ? 

The  next  morning,  when  she  awoke,  she  could  not 
316 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

for  a  moment,  remember  where  she  was ;  then  it  all 
came  back,  just  as  a  knock  sounded  on  the  door. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  called. 

"Your  coffee,  miss,"  came  the  answer,  and  she  un- 
locked the  door,  admitting  an  old  negro  woman  with 
a  neat  tray,  on  which  was  set  a  dainty  breakfast. 

Later,  when  she  was  dressed,  Madam  came.  "And 
do  you  still  feel  that  you  must  go  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  must.    Don't  tempt  me." 

The  woman  handed  her  a  card  with  her  name  and 
address.  "Well,  go,  my  dear;  and  when  you  are 
driven  to  the  street,  because  you  have  no  money  and 
are  cold  and  hungry,  come  to  me  if  you  will,  and  earn, 
food  and  clothing,  warmth  and  ease,  by  the  only 
means  open  to  you."  Then  she  went  with  her  to  the 
street  and  saw  that  she  took  the  right  car. 

As  Amy  said  good-bye,  the  tears  filled  her  eyes 
again,  and  oh,  how  lonely  and  desolate  the  poor 
girl  felt,  as  she  shivered  in  the  sharp  air,  and  how 
hopelessly  she  again  took  up  her  fight  against  the 
awful  odds. 

But  the  end  came  at  last  as  Madam  had  said  it 
would.  Without  money,  Amy  was  turned  from  her 
boarding  place.  One  awful  night  she  spent  on  the 
street,  and  the  next  day  she  found  her  way,  half 
frozen,  and  weak  from  hunger,  to  Madam's  place. 


317 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


I  HAT  Frank  Goodrich  had  managed  to  keep 
himself  free  from  all  appearance  of  evil 
since  the  night  he  so  nearly  became  a  thief, 
was  not  because  of  any  real  change  in  his  character. 
He  gambled  no  more.  Not  from  a  matter  of  principle, 
but  because  he  feared  the  results,  and  he  accepted 
Whitley's  sarcastic  advice  about  religious  services, 
not  because  there  was  any  desire  in  his  heart  for  a 
right  life,  but  because  he  felt  it  was  good  policy. 
Like  many  others,  he  was  as  bad  as  he  dared  to  be ; 
and  while  using  the  church  as  a  cloak  to  hide  his  real 
nature,  was  satisfied  if  he  could  keep  the  appearance 
of  respectability.  In  short,  he  was  a  splendid  ex- 
ample of  what  that  old  Satanic  copy-book  proverb, 
"Honesty  is  the  best  policy"  will  do  for  a  life  if  it 
be  lived  up  to  in  earnest. 

He  was  not  a  little  alarmed  over  his  sister's  con- 
duct, because  he  feared  that  Whitley,  in  a  spirit  of 
revenge,  would  demand  payment  of  the  notes ;  which 
could  only  mean  his  open  disgrace  and  ruin.  And 
his  feelings  reached  a  climax  two  weeks  after  Dick's 

321 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

return  when  he  received  a  curt  note  from  Jim  say- 
ing: 

"You  will  remember  that  I  promised  to  surrender 
those  notes  of  yours  upon  certain  conditions.  Those 
conditions  now  can  never  be  met,  and  it  becomes  nec- 
essary for  us  to  make  other  arrangements.  You  will 
meet  me  with  a  horse  and  buggy  at  Freeman  Station 
tomorrow  night,  ten-thirty.  Wait  for  me  at  the  cross- 
roads south  of  the  depot.  If  anyone  learns  of  our 
meeting  it  will  be  all  up  with  you." 

Freeman  Station  was  a  little  cluster  of  houses 
near  the  great  hay  farms  twelve  miles  from  Boyd 
City,  and  the  drive  was  not  one  to  be  made  with 
pleasure ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  about  dusk 
Frank  set  out.  It  had  been  raining  steadily  for 
several  days  and  the  mud  was  hub  deep,  while  in 
many  places  the  road  was  under  water.  Once  he  was 
obliged  to  get  out,  and  by  the  nickering  light  of  his 
lantern,  to  pick  his  way  around  a  dangerous  wash- 
out. Several  times  he  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
up  and  turning  back,  but  thoughts  of  Whitley's  anger 
drove  him  on,  and  he  at  last  reached  the  place,  several 
minutes  after  the  train  had  passed  on  its  way  across 
the  dark  prairie.  As  he  stopped  at  the  corner,  Whit- 
ley  appeared  by  the  side  of  the  buggy,  and  clambered 
in  without  a  word.  Taking  the  lines  from  Frank, 
he  lashed  the  tired  horse  with  the  whip  and  they 
plunged  forward  into  the  night. 

322 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Once  or  twice  Frank  tried  to  open  a  conversatiom 
with  his  companion,  but  received  such  short  replies 
that  he  gave  up  and  shrank  back  in  the  corner  of  the 
seat  in  miserable  silence. 

After  nearly  an  hour,  Whitley  brought  the  horse 
to  a  standstill,  and  jumping  out  of  the  buggy,  began 
to  unhitch.  Against  the  dark  sky,  Frank  could  see 
the  shadowy  outlines  of  a  house  and  barn. 

"Where  are  we  ?"  he  asked. 

"At  my  place,  nine  miles  south  of  town,"  Whitley 
answered.  "Help  me  put  up  the  horse,  can't  you  ?" 

Frank  obeyed. 

"No,  don't  take  the  harness  off,"  said  Jim  again; 
"you'll  want  him  before  long."  And  then  he  led  the 
way  to  the  house. 

Taking  a  key  from  its  hiding  place  beneath  one 
corner  of  the  step,  he  unlocked  the  door  and  entered ; 
and  while  Frank  stood  shivering  with  the  cold  and 
wet,  found  a  lamp  and  made  a  light.  The  room, 
where  they  stood  was  well  carpeted  and  furnished, 
and  upon  the  table  were  the  remains  of  a  meal,  to- 
gether with  empty  bottles  and  glasses,  and  lying  on 
the  chair  was  a  woman's  glove. 

Frank  looked  around  curiously.  He  had  heard 
rumors  of  Whitley's  place  in  the  country,  but  this 
was  his  first  visit. 

"Well,"  said  Jim  shortly,  "sit  down  while  I  build 


323 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

a  fire  and  get  something  to  drink ;  things  are  not  very 
gay  here  to-night,  but  we'll  do  the  best  we  can." 

When  the  room  was  warm  and  they  had  removed 
their  wraps  and  outer  clothing,  and  Jim  had  partaken 
freely  from  a  supply  of  liquor  on  the  sideboard,  he 
stretched  himself  in  an  easy  chair  and  spoke  more 
pleasantly.  "Well,  I  suppose  you  are  ready  to  pay 
those  notes,  with  the  interest." 

Frank  moved  uneasily.  "You  know  I  can't,"  he 
muttered.  "I  thought  from  your  letter,  that  we 
might  make  other  arrangements.  Amy,  you  know, 
might  come. — " 

"Oh,  cut  that  out,"  interrupted  Whitley,  with  an 
oath;  "your  esteemed  sister  is  out  of  this  deal  for 
good."  Then,  as  he  lit  his  cigar,  "We  might  fix  things 
in  another  way  though,  if  you  only  had  the  nerve." 

"How  ?"  asked  Frank,  eagerly. 

"That  printer  of  Udell's  has  some  papers  in  his 
possession  that  I  want.  Get  them  for  me  and  I'll 
turn  over  your  notes  and  call  it  square." 

Frank  looked  at  his  companion  in  wonder.  "What 
do  you  mean  ?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Just  what  I  say.    Can't  you  hear  ?" 

"But  how  does  that  tramp  happen  to  have  any 
papers  of  value  to  you  ?" 

"That  is,  most  emphatically,  none  of  your  business, 

my  friend.    All  you  have  to  do  is  to  get  them,  or " 

he  paused  significantly. 

324 


'A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

<rBut  will  he  give  them  up  f 

Whitley  looked  at  him  a  few  minutes  in  amuned 
contempt,  then  said,  mockingly,  "Oh  yes;  of  course 
lie  will  be  glad  to  favor  us.  All  you  need  to  do  ia 
to  put  on  your  best  Sunday  School  manners  and  say 
sweetly:  'Mr.  Falkner,  Mr.  Whitley  would  like 
those  papers  that  you  have  in  the  long  leather  pocket- 
book  tied  with  a  shoe-string/  He'll  hand  them 
over  instantly.  The  only  reason  I  have  taken  all 
this  trouble  to  meet  you  out  here  to-night  is  because 
I  am  naturally  easily  embarrassed  and  don't  like  to 
ask  him  for  them  myself." 

Frank  was  confused  and  made  no  reply,  until 
Whitley  asked :  "Where  does  the  fellow  live  now  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  he's  in  old  man  Wicks'  office 
every  evening;  has  a  desk  there,  and  works  on  some 
fool  Association  work." 

Whitley  nodded.  "Then  you  will  find  the  papers, 
in  Uncle  Bobbie's  safe." 

"But  how  am  I  to  get  them  ?" 

"I  don't  know;  you  can't  buy  them.  You  can't 
bluff  him.  And  he  won't  scare.  There's  only  one 
other  way  I  know." 

"You  mean  that  I  must  steal  them  2"  gasped  Frank. 

Whitley  looked  at  him  with  an  evil  smile.  "That's 
rather  a  hard  word  for  a  good  Christian,  isn't  it  ? 
Let's  say,  obtain  possession  of  the  documents  without. 
Mr.  Falkner's  knowledge.  It  sounds  better." 

325 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"I'm  no  thief,"  snapped  Frank. 

Jim  lifted  his  eyebrows  as  he  skillfully  flipped 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar.  "Oh,  I  see;  you  did  not 
roh  the  old  gentleman's  safe  that  night.  I  saved  you 
from  committing  murder.  You  only  negotiated  a 
trifling  loan  with  your  loving  parent.  You'll  be  tell- 
ing me  next  that  you  didn't  gamble,  but  only  whiled 
away  a  leisure  hour  or  two  in  a  social  game  of  cards. 
But,  joking  aside,  I  honestly  believe,  Frank  Good- 
rich, that  you  are  more  kinds  of  a  fool  than  any  man 
I  have  ever  had  the  pleasure  to  know.  The  case  in 
a  nutshell  is  this :  I  must  have  those  papers.  I  can't 
go  after  them  myself.  You've  got  to  get  them  for 
me." 

"I  won't,"  said  Frank,  sullenly.     "I  can't." 

"You  can,  and  you  will,"  retorted  the  other,  firmly ; 
"or  I'll  turn  those  notes  over  to  my  lawyer  for  col- 
lection, inside  of  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  little 
story  of  your  life  will  be  told  to  all  the  world.  My 
young  Christian  friend,  you  can't  afford  to  tell  me 
that  you  won't." 

For  another  hour  they  sat  before  the  fire,  talking 
and  planning,  and  then  Frank  drove  alone,  through 
the  mud  and  rain,  back  to  the  city,  reaching  his  home 
just  before  day. 

A  few  nights  later,  as  Dick  sat  at  his  work  in  Mr. 
Wicks'  office,  a  rubber-tired  buggy  drove  slowly  past 
close  to  the  curbing.  Through  the  big  front  window, 

326 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Dick  could  be  seen  plaialy  as  he  bent  over  his  desk, 
just  inside  an  inner  room,  his  back  toward  the  door, 
which  stood  open.  A  burly  negro  leaped  to  the  side- 
walk without  stopping  the  carriage.  So  absorbed 
was  Dick  with  the  task  before  him,  that  he  did  not 
hear  the  outer  door  of  the  office  open  and  close  again ; 
and  so  quickly  did  the  negro  move  that  he  stood 
within  the  room  where  Dick  sat  before  the  latter  was! 
aware  of  his  presence. 

When  Dick  did  raise  his  head,  he  looked  straight 
into  the  muzzle  of  a  big  revolver. 

"Don't  move  er  ye'r  a  goner,"  growled  the  black 
giant ;  and  reaching  out  with  his  free  hand  he  swung 
to  the  door  between  the  rooms,  thus  cutting  off  the 
view  from  the  street. 

Dick  smiled  pleasantly  as  though  his  visitor  had 
called  in  the  ordinary  way.  "What  can  I  do  for 
you?"  he  asked,  politely. 

"Yo  jest  move  'way  from  dat  'ar  desk  fust ;  den  we 
kin  talk.  I  don'  'spect  you's  got  a  gun  handy,  an'  we 
don'  want  no  foolin'." 

Dick  laughed  aloud  as  though  the  other  had  made 
a  good  joke.  "All  right,  boss ;  just  as  you  say."  And 
leaving  his  chair  he  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  a 
table  in  the  center  of  the  room.  But  the  negro  did 
not  notice  that  he  had  placed  himself  so  that  a  heavy 
glass  paper-weight  was  just  hidden  by  his  right  leg. 


327 


"Better  take  a  seat  yourself,"  continued  Dick  cor- 
dially. "Might  as  well  be  comfortable.  How  are 
the  wife  and  babies  ?" 

The  negro  showed  his  teeth  in  a  broad  grin  as  he 
dropped  into  the  revolving  chair  Dick  had  just  va- 
cated. "Dey's  well,  tank  yo'  kindly  sah."  Then  as 
he  looked  at  the  young  man's  careless  attitude  and 
smiling  face,  he  burst  forth,  admiringly:  "Dey 
done  tole  me  as  how  yo'  wor'  a  cool  cuss  an'  mighty 
bad  to  han'le ;  but  f o'  God  I  nebber  seed  nothin'  like 
hit.  Aint  yo'  skeered  ?" 

Dick  threw  up  his  head  and  laughed  heartily. 
"Sure  I'm  scared,"  he  said.  "Don't  you  see  how  I'm 
shaking  ?  I  expect  I'll  faint  in  a  minute  if  you  don't 
put  up  that  gun." 

The  negro  scowled  fiercely.  "]STo  yo'  don't.  Yo' 
kan't  come  dat  on  dis  chile.  Dat  gun  stay  pinted 
jus'  lak  she  is;  an'  hit  goes  off  too  ef  yo'  don'  do 
what  I  says,  mighty  sudden." 

"Just  as  you  say,"  replied  Dick,  cheerfully.  "But 
\vrhat  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?" 

"I  wants  yo'  -to  unlock  dat  air  safe." 

"Can't  do  it.     I  don't  know  the  combination." 

"Huh,"  the  negro  grunted.  "Yo'  kan't  gib  me  no 
such  guff  es  dat.  Move  sudden  now." 

"You're  making  a  mistake,"  said  Diok,  earnestly. 
*I  hare  only  desk  room  here.  I  don't  work  for  Mr. 


328 


"? 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Wicks,  and  have  no  business  with  the  safe.  Besides, 
they  don't  keep  money  there  anyway." 

"Taint  money  I'm  after  dis  trip,  mistah;  hit's 
papers.  Dey  's  in  a  big  leather  pocket-book,  tied 
with  er  sho'  string." 

Like  a  flash,  Dick  understood.  The  papers  were 
in  the  safe,  but  as  he  said,  he  did  not  know  the  com- 
bination. "Papers  ?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  surprise, 
in  order  to  gain  time. 

"Yes  sah,  papers ;  dat  yo'  keeps  in  dar."  He  nod- 
ded toward  the  safe.  "I  wants  em  quick."  The 
hand  that  held  the  revolver  came  slowly  to  a  level 
with  the  dark  face. 

.  "Shoot  if  you  want  to,"  said  Dick,  easily,  "but 
I'm  telling  you  the  truth.  I  don't  know  how  to  open 
the  safe." 

The  negro  looked  puzzled,  and  Dick,  seeing  his 
advantage  instantly,  let  his  hand  fall  easily  on  his 
leg,  close  to  the  paper  weight.  "Besides,"  he  said 
carelessly,  "if  its  my  papers  you  want,  that's  my  desk 

behind -"      He    checked    himself    suddenly    as 

though  he  had  said  more  than  he  intended. 

The  negro's  face  lighted  at  what  he  thought  was 
Dick's  mistake,  and  forgetting  himself,  half  turned 
in  the  revolving  chair,  while  the  muzzle  of  the  re- 
volver was  shifted  for  just  the  fraction  of  a  second. 
It  was  enough.  With  the  quickness  of  a  serpent, 
Dick's  hand  shot  out,  and  the  heavy  weight  caught 

329 


the  negro  above  the  right  ear,  and  with  a  groan  he 
slid  from  the  chair  to  the  floor. 

When  the  black  ruffian  regained  consciousness, 
Dick  was  still  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  calmly 
swinging  his  feet,  but  in  his  hand  was  his  visitor's 
weapon. 

"Well,"  he  said,  quietly,  "you've  had  quite  a  nap. 
Do  you  feel  better?  Or  do  you  think  one  of  these 
pills  would  help  you  ?"  He  slowly  cocked  and  raised 
the  revolver. 

"Don't  shoot.    Don't  shoot,  sah." 

"Why  not  ?"  said  Dick,  coldly,  but  with  the  smile 
still  on  his  face. 

That  smile  did  the  business.  Oaths  and  threats 
the  black  man  could  understand;  but  a  man  who 
looked  deliberately  along  a  cocked  revolver,  with  a 
smile  on  his  face,  was  too  much  for  him.  He  begged 
and  pleaded  for  his  life. 

"Tell  me  who  sent  you  here  ?" 

"Mistah  Goodrich." 

Dick  was  startled,  though  his  face  showed  no  sur- 
prise. 

"The  old  gentleman  ?" 

"No  sah,  Mistah  Frank." 

"How  did  he  know  that  I  had  any  papers  ?" 

"I  don'  know  sah ;  he  only  said  as  how  he  wanted 
dem ;  an'  he's  er  waitin'  'round  de  cornah  in  de  ker- 


rige." 


330 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

This  was  a  new  feature  in  the  situation.  Dick 
was  puzzled.  At  last  he  stepped  to  the  phone  and, 
still  covering  the  negro  with  the  revolver,  he  rang 
up  central  and  called  for  Mr.  Wicks'  residence.  When 
the  answer  came,  he  said  easily,  "Excuse  me  for  dis- 
turbing you,  Mr.  Wicks,  but  I  have  a  man  here  in  the 
office  who  wants  to  get  into  your  safe,  and  I  need  you 
badly.  You  had  better  come  in  the  back  way." 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  a  shake,"  was  the  reply ;  "hold 
him  down  till  I  get  there."  And  a  few  minutes  later 
the  old  gentleman  knocked  at  the  door.  Dick  ad- 
mitted him  and  then  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh  at 
his  strange  appearance ;  for  in  his  haste,  Uncle  Bobbie 
had  simply  pulled  on  a  pair  of  rubber  boots  and  don- 
ned an  overcoat.  With  the  exception  of  these  articles, 
he  was  in  his  nightshirt  and  cap.  In  his  hand,  he 
carried  a  pistol  half  as  long  as  his  arm;  but  he  was 
as  calm  as  Dick  himself,  though  breathing  hard.  "To- 
be-sure,"  he  puffed,  "I'm — so — plagey — fat — can't 
hurry — worth  cent — wind's  no  good — have  to  take 
— to  smokin'  agin — sure." 

Dick  explained  the  situation  in  a  few  words;  "I 
wouldn't  have  called  you  sir,  if  young  Goodrich  were 
not  in  it.  But — but — you  see — I  don't  know  what 
to  do,"  he  finished,  lamely. 

"To-be-sure,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie,  "I  know.  To- 
be-sure.  Sometimes  a  bad  feller  like  him  gets  tangled 
up  with  good  people  in  such  a  way  you  jist  got  t'er 

331 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

let  'em  alone;  tares  an'  wheat  you  know;  tares  and 
wheat.  To-be-sure  Christianity  aint  'rithmetic,  and 
you  can't  save  souls  like  you'd  do  problems  in  long 
division,  ner  count  results  like  you'd  figger  interest. 
What'd  ye  say  ? — Suppose  you  skip  down  to  the  cor- 
ner and  fetch  him  up  here." 

Dick  glanced  at  the  negro.  "Never  you  mind 
him,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  fierce  scowl. 
"Your  uncle  '11  shoot  the  blamed  head  off  him  if  he 
so  much  as  bats  an  eye;  he  knows  it  too."  And  he 
trained  the  long  gun  on  the  trembling  black. 

Dick  slipped  out  of  the  back  door  and  soon  returned 
holding  Frank  firmly  by  the  collar.  As  they  entered, 
Uncle  Bobbie  said  to  the  negro,  "Now's  yer  chance, 
Bill ;  git  out  quick  'fore  we  change  our  minds."  And 
the  astonished  darkey  bolted. 

"Now  Frank,"  said  the  old  gentleman  kindly,  when 
Dick  had  placed  his  prisoner  in  a  chair,  "tell  us  all 
about  it."  And  young  Goodrich,  too  frightened 
almost  to  speak  above  a  whisper,  told  the  whole  mis- 
erable story. 

"Too  bad ;  too  bad,"  muttered  Uncle  Bobbie,  when 
Frank  had  finished.  "To-be-sure,  taint  no  more'n  I 
expected ;  gamblin'  church  members  ain't  got  no  call 
to  kick  if  their  children  play  cards  fer  money.  What 
'11  we  do,  Dick?" 

Dick  was  silent,  but  unseen  by  Frank,  he  motioned 
toward  the  door. 

332 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Uncle  Bobbie  understood.  "I  reckon  yer  right," 
he  said,  slowly,  "tares  an'  wheat — tares  an'  wheat. 
But  what  about  them  notes  ?" 

"I'll  fix  Whitley,"  replied  Dick. 

Frank  looked  at  him  in  wonder. 

"Air  you  sure  you  can  do  it  ?"  asked  Uncle  Bob- 
bie ;  "  'cause  if  you  can't — " 

"Sure,"  replied  Dick;  "I'll  write  him  a  line  to- 
night." Then  to  Frank:  "You  can  go  now,  sir,  and 
don't  worry  about  Jim  Whitley ;  he  will  never  trouble 
you  by  collecting  the  notes."' 

Frank,  stammering  some  unintelligible  reply,  rose 
to  his  feet. 

"Wait  a  bit  young  man,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie,  "I 
want  to  tell  ye  somethin'  before  ye  go.  To-be-sure,  I 
don't  think  ye'll  ever  be  a  very  bad  citizen,  but  you've 
shown  pretty  clearly  that  ye  can  be  a  mighty  mean 
one.  An'  I'm  afraid  ye'll  never  be  much  credit  to  the 
church,  'cause  a  feller's  got  to  be  a  man  before  he 
can  be  much  of  a  Christian.  Pieces  of  men  like  you 
don't  count  much  on  either  side;  they  just  sort  o' 
fill  in.  But  what  ye  want  to  do  is  to  quit  tryin'  so 
blamed  hard  to  be  respectable  and  be  decent.  jSTow 
run  on  home  to  yer  maw  and  don't  tell  nobody  where 
ye've  been  to-night.  Mr.  Falkner  he  will  look  after 
yer  friend  Whitley." 


333 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


HE  sun  was  nearly  three  hours  high  above 
the  western  hilltops  in  the  mountain  dis- 
trict of  Arkansas,  as  a  solitary  horseman 
stopped  in  the  shadow  of  the  timber  that  fringed  the 
edge  of  a  deep  ravine.  It  was  evident  from  the 
man's  dress,  that  he  was  not  a  native  of  that  region ; 
and  from  the  puzzled  expression  on  his  face,  as  he 
looked  anxiously  about,  it  was  clear  that  he  had  lost 
his  way.  Standing  in  the  stirrups  he  turned  and 
glanced  back  over  the  bridle  path  along  which  he  had 
come,  and  then  peered  carefully  through  the  trees 
to  the  right  and  left;  then  with  an  impatient  oath, 
he  dropped  to  the  saddle  and  sat  staring  straight 
ahead  at  a  lone  pine  upon  the  top  of  a  high  hill  a  few 
miles  away. 

"There's  the  hill  with  the  signal  tree  beyond  Simp- 
son's all  right,"  he  said,  "but  how  in  thunder  am  I 
to  get  there;  this  path  don't  go  any  farther,  that's 
sure,"  and  from  the  distant  mountain  he  turned  his 
gaze  to  the  deep  gulch  that  lay  at  his  feet. 

337 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Suddenly  he  leaned  forward  with  another  exclama- 
tion. He  had  caught  sight  of  a  log  cabin  in  the 
bottom  of  the  ravine,  half  hidden  by  the  bushes  and 
low  trees  that  grew  upon  the  steep  banks.  Turning 
his  horse,  he  rode  slowly  up  and  down  for  some  dis- 
tance, searching  for  an  easy  place  to  descend,  com- 
ing back  at  last  to  the  spot  where  he  had  first  halted. 
"It's  no  go,  Salem,"  he  said ;  "we've  got  to  slide  for 
it,"  and  dismounting,  he  took  the  bridle  rein  in  his 
hand  and  began  to  pick  his  way  as  best  he  could, 
down  the  steep  incline,  while  his  four-footed  compan- 
ion reluctantly  followed.  After  some  twenty  min- 
utes of  stumbling  and  swearing  on  the  part  of  the 
man,  and  slipping  and  groaning  on  the  part  of  the 
horse,  they  stood  panting  at  the  bottom.  After  a 
short  rest,  the  man  clambered  into  the  saddle  again, 
and  fording  a  little  mountain  brook  that  laughed 
and  sang  and  roared  among  the  boulders,  rode  up  to 
the  clearing  in  which  the  cabin  stood. 

"Hello!"  he  shouted. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  but  for  the  thread  of 
smoke  that  curled  lazily  from  the  mud  and  stick 
chimney,  the  place  seemed  deserted. 

"Hello !"  he  called  again. 

A  gaunt  hound  came  rushing  from  the  underbrush 
beyond  the  house,  and  with  hair  bristling  in  anger, 
howled  his  defiance  and  threats. 

Again  the  horseman  shouted,  and  this  time  the 
338 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

cabin  door  opened  cautiously  and  a  dirty-faced  urchin 
thrust  forth  a  tousled  head. 

"Where's  your  father  ?" 

The  head  was  withdrawn,  and  a  moment  later  put 
forth  again.  "He's  done  gone  ter  th*  corners." 

"Well,  can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  Simpson's  ?  I 
don't  know  how  to  get  out  of  this  infernal  hole." 

Again  the  head  disappeared  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then  the  door  was  thrown  wide  open  and  a  slovenly 
woman,  with  a  snuff  stick  in  one  corner  of  her  mouth, 
eame  out,  followed  by  four  children.  The  youngest 
three  clung  to  her  skirts  and  stared,  with  fearful  eyes, 
at  the  man  on  the  horse,  while  he  of  the  tousled  head 
threw  stones  at  the  dog  and  commanded  him,  in  a 
shrill  voice,  to  "shet  up,  dad  burn  ye  Kinney,  shet  up. 
He's  all  right." 

"Wanter  go  ter  Simpson's  at  the  corners,  do  ye  ?" 
said  the  woman.  "  Wai,  yer  right  smart  off  en  yer  road." 

"I  know  that,"  replied  the  stranger,  impatiently; 
"I've  been  hunting  turkeys  and  lost  my  way.  But 
can't  I  get  to  the  corners  from  here  ?" 

"Sure  ye  kin.     Jes'  foller  on  down  the  branch 
'bout  three  mile  till  ye  come  out  on  the  big  road: 
hit'll  take  ye  straight  ter  th'  ford  below  oF  BalF 
whar'  the  lone  tree  is.     Simpson's  is  'bout  half  a 
quarter  on  yon  side  the  creek." 

The  man  thanked  her  gruffly,  and  turning  his  horse, 
started  away. 

339 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Be  you'ns  the  feller  what's  stoppin'  at  Sim's  ter 
hunt  ?"  she  called  after  him. 

"Yes,  I'm  the  man,"  he  answered,  "Good-evening." 
And  he  rode  into  the  bushes. 

Catching  the  oldest  urchin  by  the  arm,  the  woman 
gave  him  a  vigorous  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head  and 
then  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  attentive  ear.  The 
lad  started  off  down  the  opposite  side  of  the  ravine 
at  a  run,  bending  low  and  dodging  here  and  there, 
unseen  by  the  stranger. 

The  hunter  pushed  on  his  way  down  the  narrow 
valley  as  fast  as  he  could  go,  for  he  had  no  time  to 
spare  if  he  would  reach  his  stopping-place  before 
night,  and  he  knewthat  there  was  small  chance  of  find- 
ing the  way  back  after  dark;  but  his  course  was  so 
rough  and  obstructed  by  heavy  undergrowth,  fallen 
trees  and  boulders,  that  his  progress  was  slow  and  the 
shadow  of  the  mountain  was  over  the  trail  while  he 
was  still  a  mile  from  the  road  at  the  end  of  the  ravine. 
As  he  looked  anxiously  ahead,  hoping  every  moment 
to  see  the  broader  valley  where  the  road  lay,  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  two  men  coming  toward  him,  one  behind 
the  other,  winding  in  and  out  through  the  low  timber. 
While  still  some  distance  away,  they  turned  sharply 
to  the  left,  and  as  it  seemed  to  him,  rode  straight  into 
the  side  of  the  mountain  and  were  lost  to  sight. 

Checking  his  horse,  he  watched  for  them  to  come 
into  view  again,  and  while  he  waited,  wondering  at 

340 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

their  strange  disappearance,  the  men  urged  theii 
mules  up  a  narrow  gulley  that  was  so  hidden  by  the 
undergrowth  and  fallen  timber  as  to  escape  an  eye 
untrained  to  the  woods  and  hills.  After  riding  a 
short  distance,  they  dismounted,  and  leaving  the  ani- 
mals,  quickly  scaled  the  steep  sides  of  the  little  cut 
and  came  out  in  an  open  space  about  two  hundred 
yards  above  the  trail  along  which  the  solitary  horse- 
man must  pass.  Dropping  behind  the  trunk  of  a  big 
tree  that  lay  on  the  mountain  side,  uprooted  by  some 
gale  and  blackened  by  forest  fires,  they  searched  the 
valley  below  with  the  keen  glance  of  those  whose  eyes 
are  never  dimmed  by  printed  page  or  city  lights. 
Dressed  in  the  rude  garb  of  those  to  whom  clothes  are 
a  necessity,  not  a  means  of  display,  tall  and  lean 
with  hard  muscles,  tough  sinews  and  cruel  stony 
faces,  they  seemed  a  part  of  the  wild  life  about  them ; 
and  yet  withal,  there  was  a  touch  of  the  mountain 
grandeur  in  their  manner,  and  in  the  unconscious 
air  of  freedom  and  self-reliance,  as  there  always  is 
about  everything  that  remains  untouched  by  the 
conventionality  of  the  weaker  world  of  men. 

"  'Bout  time  he  showed  up,  aint  it,  Jake  ?"  said 
one  as  he  carefully  rested  his  rifle  against  the  log 
and  bit  off  a  big  piece  of  long  green  twist  tobacco. 

"Hit's  a  right  smart  piece  ter  ol'  Josh's  shack  an* 
th*  kid  done  come  in  a  \rhoop,"  returned  the  other, 
following  his  companion's  example.  "He  can't  make 

341 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

much  time  down  that  branch  on  hoss  back  an'  with 
them  fine  clothes  of  his,  but  he  orten  ter  be  fur  off." 

"D'ye  reckon  he's  a  durned  revenoo  sure,  Jake  ?" 

"Dunno,  best  be  safe,"  with  an  ugly  scowl.  "Simp- 
son 'lows  he's  jes'  layin'  low  hisself,  but  ye  can't  tell." 

"What'd  Sim  say  his  name  war  ?" 

"Jim  Whitley,"  returned  the  other,  taking  a  long, 
careful  look  up  the  valley. 

"An'  whar'  from  ?" 

"Sim  say  St.  Louie,  or  some  place  like  that  Sh — 
thar*  he  comes." 

They  half  rose  and  crouching  behind  the  log, 
pushed  the  cocked  rifles  through  the  leaves  of  a  little 
bush,  covering  the  horseman  below. 

"If  he's  a  revenoo  he'll  sure  see  th'  path  ter  th' 
still,"  whispered  the  one  called  Jake:  "an'  if  he 
turns  ter  foller  hit  into  th'  cut  drap  him.  If  he  goes 
on  down  th'  branch,  all  right." 

All  unconscious  of  the  rifles  that  wanted  only  the 
touch  of  an  outlaw's  finger  to  speak  his  death,  the 
stranger  pushed  on  his  way  past  the  unseen  danger 
point  toward  the  end  of  the  valley  where  lay  the  road. 

The  lean  mountaineers  looked  at  each  other. 
"^ever  seed  hit,"  said  one,  showing  his  yellow  teeth 
in  a  mirthless  grin ;  "an'  I  done  tole  Cap  las'  night, 
hit  was  es  plain  es  er  main  traveled  road  an'  orter  be 
kivered." 


342 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

"Mebbe  so,"  replied  the  other;  "an*  then  agin  he 
mighter  ketched  on  an'  'lows  ter  fool  us." 

The  other  sprang  up  with  an  oath.  "We  uns  aint 
got  no  call  ter  take  chances,"  he  growled ;  "best  make 
sure."  And  with  his  rifle  half  raised,  he  looked 
anxiously  along  the  trail,  but  the  stranger  had  passed 
from  view. 

A  few  minutes  longer  they  waited  and  watched, 
discussing  the  situation ;  then  returning  to  the  mules, 
they  rode  out  of  the  little  gully  and  on  down  the 
branch  in  the  direction  the  object  of  their  suspicion 
had  taken. 

Just  across  the  road  from  the  mouth  of  the  ravine 
down  which  the  hunter  had  come,  was  a  little  log 
cabin,  and  in  the  low  doorway  an  old  woman  sat 
smoking  a  cob  pipe.  "Howdy  Liz,"  said  one  of  the 
men,  "Seed  anythin'  ?" 

"Yep,"  returned  the  woman.  "He  done  ast  th* 
way  ter  Simpson's.  'Low'd  he'd  been  huntin*  turkey 
an*  lost  hisself.  I  done  tole  him  he  orter  git  some- 
one ter  tromp  'roun'  with  him  er  he  might  git  killed." 

She  laughed  shrilly  and  the  two  men  joined  in  with 
low  guffaws.  "Reckon  yer  right,  Liz,"  said  one. 
"Jake,  why  don't  ye  hire  out  ter  him." 

Jake  slapped  his  leg.  "By  gum,"  he  exclaimed, 
"that  thar's  a  good  ide'.  I  shor'  do  hit.  An*  I'll  see 
that  he  don't  find  nothiu'  bigger'n  turkey  too ;  less'n 

he's  too  durned  inquisitive ;  then  I'll  be ."  He 

343 


THAT  PBINTEE  OF  UDELL'S 

finished  with  an  evil  grin.  "You  all  tell  Cap  IVe 
done  gone  ter  hunt  with  Mistah  Whitley  ef  I  don't 
show  up."  And  beating  his  mule's  ribs  vigorously 
with  his  heels,  he  jogged  away  down  the  road,  while 
his  companion  turned  and  rode  back  up  the  little 
valley. 

Jim  Whitley,  enraged  at  Frank's  failure  to  rescue 
the  papers  held  by  Dick,  and  alarmed  by  the  latter's 
letter  telling  him  of  young  Goodrich's  confession,  had 
conie  into  the  wild  backwoods  district  to  await  de- 
velopments. He  was  more  determined  now  than 
ever,  to  gain  possession  of  the  evidence  of  his  crime, 
and  in  his  heart  was  a  fast-growing  desire  to  silence, 
once  for  all,  the  man  whose  steady  purpose  and  in- 
tegrity was  such  an  obstacle  in  his  life.  But  he 
could  see  no  way  to  accomplish  his  purpose  without 
great  danger  to  himself;  and  with  the  memory  of 
the  gray  eyes  that  had  looked  so  calmly  along  the 
shining  revolvers  that  night  in  the  printing  office, 
was  a  wholesome  respect  for  the  determined  char- 
acter of  the  man  who  had  coolly  proposed  to  die  with 
him  if  he  did  not  grant  his  demands.  He  feared  that 
should  Dick  find  Amy  and  learn  the  truth,  he  would 
risk  his  own  life  rather  than  permit  him  to  go  un- 
punished, and  so  he  resolved  to  bury  himself  in  the 
mountains  until  chance  should  reveal  a  safe  way  out 
of  the  difficulty,  or  time  change  the  situation. 

The  afternoon  of  the  day  following  his  adventure 
344 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

in  the  little  valley,  Whitley  sat  on  the  porch  of  the 
post  office  and  store  kept  by  his  host,  telling  his  ex- 
perience to  a  group  of  loafers,  when  the  long  moun- 
taineer called  Jake,  rode  up  to  the  blacksmith  shop 
across  the  street.  Leaving  his  mule  to  be  shod,  the 
native  joined  the  circle  just  in  time  to  hear  the  lattei 
part  of  Whitley's  story. 

"Lookin'  fer  turkey,  war  ye  Mister  ?"  asked  Jake, 
with  a  wink  at  the  bystanders. 

"Yes,  have  you  seen  any  ?"  replied  Jim. 

"Sure,  the  bresh's  full  of  'em  ef  ye  know  whar*  ter 
hunt." 

The  company  grinned  and  he  continued :  "I  seed 
signs  this  mo'nin'  in  th'  holler  on  yon  side  ol'  Ball, 
when  I  war'  huntin'  my  mule.  An'  thar's  a  big 
roost  down  by  th'  spring  back  of  my  place  in  th' 
bottoms." 

Whitley  was  interested.  "Will  you  show  me  where 
they  are  ?"  he  asked. 

"Might  ef  I  could  spar'  th'  time,"  replied  Jake 
slowly ;  "but  I've  got  my  craps  ter  tend." 

Another  grin  went  the  rounds.  "Jake's  sure  pushed 
|with  his  craps,"  remarked  one;  "Eaises  mo'  corn, 
*n  'ary  three  men  in  Arkansaw,"  remarked  another, 
and  with  this  they  all  fired  a  volley  of  tobacco  juice 
at  a  tumble  bug  rolling  his  ball  in  the  dust  near  by. 

Needless  to  say,  the  <*nversation  resulted  in  Whit- 
ley's  engaging  the  moonshiner  for  seventy-five  oenta 

911 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

a  day,  to  hunt  with  him ;  and  for  the  next  two  weeks 
they  were  always  together. 

All  day  long  the  native  led  the  way  over  the  hills 
and  through  the  deep  ravines  and  valleys,  taking  a 
different  course  each  day,  but  always  the  chase  led 
them  away  from  the  little  ravine  that  opened  on  the 
big  road.  When  Whitley  suggested  that  they  try  the 
country  where  he  had  lost  his  way,  his  guide  only 
laughed  contemptuously,  "Ain't  ye  killin'  turkey 
every  trip.  Ye  jist  f oiler  me  an'  I'll  sure  find  'em 
fer  ye.  Ain't  nothin'  over  in  that  holler.  I  done 
tromped  all  over  thar'  huntin'  that  dad  burned  oP 
mule  o'mine,  an'  didn't  see  nary  sign.  Thay's  usen' 
'round  th'  south  side  th'  ridge.  Ye  jist  lemme  take  ye 
'round."  And  Jim  was  forced  to  admit  that  he  was 
having  good  luck  and  no  cause  to  eomplain  of  lack  of 
sport.  But  he  was  growing  tired  of  the  hills  and  im- 
patient to  return  to  the  city,  while  his  hatred  of  the 
man  whom  he  feared,  grew  hourly. 

Jake,  seeing  that  his  employer  was  fast  growing 
tired  of  the  hunt,  and  guessing  shrewdly,  from  his 
preoccupied  manner,  that  hunting  was  not  the  real 
object  of  his  stay  in  the  mountains,  became  more  and 
more  suspicious.  His  careless,  good-natured  ways  and 
talk  changed  to  a  sullen  silence  and  he  watched  Whit- 
ley  constantly. 

One  morning,  just  at  daybreak,  as  they  were  walk- 
ing briskly  along  the  big  road  on  their  way  to  a 

346 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

place  where  the  guide  said  the  game  was  to  be  found, 
.Take  stopped  suddenly,  and  motioning  Jim  to  be 
silent,  stood  in  a  listening  attitude. 

Whitley  followed  his  companion's  example,  but 
for  a  minute  could  hear  nothing  but  the  faint  rustle 
of  the  dead  leaves  as  a  gray  lizard  darted  to  his  hiding 
place,  and  the  shrill  scream  of  a  blue-jay  calling  his 
sleepy  mates  to  breakfast.  Then  the  faint  thud, 
thud,  thud,  of  a  galloping  horse  came  louder  and 
louder  through  the  morning  mist.  Evidently  some- 
one was  riding  rapidly  toward  them. 

Whitley  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  other,  with  a 
fierce  oath  and  a  threatening  gesture,  stopped  him. 

"Git  inter  th'  bresh  thar'  quick  an*  do  's  I  tell  ye. 
Don't  stop  t'  plaver.  Git !  An'  gimme  yer  gun." 

Too  astonished  to  do  anything  else,  Jim  obeyed, 
and  hastily  thrusting  the  rifle  under  a  pile  of  leaves 
by  a  log  near  by,  the  moonshiner  forced  his  companion 
before  him  through  the  underbrush  to  a  big  rock 
some  distance  from  the  road.  The  sound  of  the  gal- 
loping horse  came  louder  and  louder. 

"Stand  thar'  behin'  that  rock  'n  if  ye  stir  I'll  kill 
ye,"  whispered  Jake ;  and  taking  a  position  behind  a 
tree  where  he  could  watch  Jim  as  well  as  the  road, 
he  waited  with  rifle  cocked  and  murder  written  in 
every  line  of  his  hard  face. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  galloping  horse.  Whit- 
ley was  fascinated  and  moved  slightly  so  that  he 

347 


THAT  PEINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

could  peep  over  the  rock.  A  low  hiss  from  Jake  fell 
upon  his  ear  like  the  warning  hiss  of  a  serpent,  and 
half  turning,  he  saw  the  rifle  pointing  full  at  him. 
He  nodded  his  head,  and  placing  his  finger  upon  his 
lips  to  indicate  that  he  understood,  turned  his  face 
toward  the  road  again,  just  as  the  horse  and  his  rider 
came  into  view. 

The  animal,  though  going  freely,  was  covered  with 
dust  and  dripping  with  sweat,  which  showed  a  creamy 
lather  on  his  flanks,  and  where  the  bridle  reins  touched 
his  neck.  The  rider  wore  a  blue  flannel  shirt,  open  at 
the  throat,  corduroy  trousers,  tucked  in  long  boots, 
and  a  black  slouch  hat,  with  the  brim  turned  up  in 
front.  At  his  belt  hung  two  heavy  revolvers,  and 
across  the  saddle  he  held  a  "Winchester  ready  for 
instant  use.  He  sat  his  horse  easily  as  one  accus- 
tomed to  much  riding,  but  like  the  animal,  he  showed 
the  strain  of  a  hard  race. 

Whitley  was  so  wrought  up  that  all  these  details 
impressed  themselves  upon  his  mind  in  an  instant, 
and  it  seemed  hours  from  the  moment  the  horseman 
appeared  until  he  was  opposite  the  rock,  though  it 
could  have  been  but  a  few  seconds. 

The  watcher  caught  one  glimpse  of  the  rider's  face, 
square  jawed,  keen  eyed,  determined,  alert,  stained  by 
wind  and  weather. 

"Crack !"  went  the  rifle  behind  Whitley. 

Like  a  flash  the  weapon  of  the  rider  flew  to  his 
348 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

shoulder.     "Crack !"  and  the  bark  flew  from  the  tree 
within  an  inch  of  Jake's  face. 

Whitley  saw  the  spurs  strike  and  the  rider  lean 
forward  in  his  saddle  to  meet  the  spring  of  his  horse, 
"Crack !"  Jake's  rifle  spoke  again.  A  mocking  laugh 
came  back  from  the  road  as  the  flying  horseman 
passed  from  sight.  Then,  "I'll  see  you  later,"  came 
in  ringing  tones,  and  the  thud,  thud,  thud,  of  the 
galloping  horse  died  away  in  the  distance. 

The  mountaineer  delivered  himself  of  a  volley  of 
oaths,  while  Whitley  stood  quietly  looking  at  him, 
his  mind  filled  with  strange  thoughts.  The  man  who 
could  deliberately  fire  from  ambush  with  intent  to  kill 
was  the  man  for  his  purpose. 

"Who  is  he  ?"  Jim  asked  at  last,  when  the  other 
stopped  swearing  long  enough  to  fill  his  mouth  with 
fresh  tobacco. 

"A  revenoo,  an'  I  done  missed  him  clean."  He 
began  to  curse  again. 

"He  came  near  getting  you  though,"  said  the  other, 
pointing  to  the  mark  of  the  horseman's  bullet. 

"Yas,  hit  war'  Bill  Davis.  Aint  nary  other  man  in 
the  hull  dad  burned  outfit  could  er  done  hit."  He 
looked  with  admiration  at  the  fresh  scar  on  the  tree. 

"But  what  is  he  doing  ?"  asked  Whitley. 

Jake  looked  at  him  with  that  ugly,  mirthless  grin. 
"Mebbe  he's  huntin'  turkey  too." 

Whitley  laughed,  "I  guess  he  was  goin*  too  fast 
349 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

for  that,"  he  said ;  but  his  companion's  reply  changed 
his  laughter  to  fear. 

"Thar's  them  that  better  be  a  follerin'  of  him 
mighty  sudden." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  you,  Mister.  The  boys  has  had  ther'  eye 
on  ye  fer  sometime.  We  know  yer  huntings  all  a 
blind,  an*  now  Bill  Davis  he's  come  in.  I  aint  right 
shor'  myself  er  I'd  a  kep'  mum  an'  he'pped  'em  take 

ye." 

Whitley  turned  pale.  "Do  you  mean  that  the 
people  here  think  I'm  a  revenue  agent  looking  for 
moonshiners  ?" 

"That's  about  hit,  Mister,  an'  they'll  be  fer  takin' 
ye  out  ter  night  shor'." 

The  fellow's  meaning  was  too  clear  to  be  mistaken, 
and  for  some  time  Whitley  remained  silent.  He  was 
thinking  hard.  At  last  he'said:  "Jake,  I'll  tell  you 
something.  The  boys  are  mistaken.  I'm  not  here 
to  get  anybody  into  trouble,  but  because  I'm  in  a 
hole  myself." 

"As  how  ?"  asked  Jake,  moving  nearer  and  speak- 
ing in  a  lower  tone. 

"I  won't  tell  you  how  unless  you'll  help  me;  and 
if  you  will,  I'll  pay  you  more  money  than  you  can 
make  in  this  business  in  a  thousand  years." 

The  moonshiner's  eyes  gleamed.  "Bill  Davis  is 
sure  after  us  an'  that  thar'  means  trouble  every  time," 

350 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

he  said  slowly.  "Ye  heard  him  say  as  how  he'd  see 
me  agin,  an'  I  never  knowed  him  ter  miss  befo'."  He 
looked  at  the  bullet  mark  on  the  tree  again.  "Tell 
ye  what,  Mister  Whitley,  I'll  chance  her;  but  we 
ain't  got  no  time  ter  talk  now.  We  gotter  git  away 
from  here,  fer  some  er  the  boys  '11  be  along  purty 
quick.  We'll  just  mosey  'round  fer  a  spell  an'  then 
go  back  ter  th'  corners.  I'll  send  th'  boys  off  on  er  hot 
chase  en'  fix  Sim  so  's  ye  km  git  erway  t'-night,  an' 
ye  come  ter  my  shack;  hit's  on  th'  river  below  that 
hill  with  the  lone  tree  on  top,  jes'  seven  mile  from  th' 
corners.  Ye  can't  miss  hit.  I'll  be  thar  an'  have 
things  fixed  so's  we  kin  light  out  befo'  th'  boys  git 
back." 

They  reached  Simpson's  in  time  for  dinner  and 
Jake  held  a  long  whispered  conversation  with  that 
worthy,  while  Jim  sat  on  the  porch  after  the  meal. 

As  Jake  passed  him.  on  his  way  to  the  mule  that 
stood  hitched  in  front  of  the  blacksmith  shop  as  usual, 
he  said,  in  the  hearing  of  those  near:  "Hit's  all 
right  fer  to-morrow,  is  hit,  Mister  Whitley?  An' 
we'll  go  over  tother  side  Sandy  Ridge  ?" 

The  words  "all  right"  were  accompanied  by  a  wink 
that  Whitley  understood. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  carelessly,  "I'll  be  ready.  I 
want  to  rest  this  afternoon  and  get  a  good  sleep  to- 
night. I'll  be  with  you  in  the  morning." 

Jake  rode  off,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  day  Whitley 
351 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

felt  that  he  was  the  mark  for  many  scowling  glances, 
while  many  whispered  words  were  passed  between 
the  gaunt  natives  as  they  slouched  in  and  out  of  the 
post  office.  Later,  when  the  loafers  had  seemingly 
disappeared,  Simpson  came,  and  leaning  carelessly 
against  the  door  post  within  a  few  feet  of  Whitley, 
said,  in  a  low  voice :  "They's  a  watchin'  ye  from  th' 
shop  yonder ;  be  keerf ul  an'  don't  let  on.  Yer  hoss  is 
tied  in  th'  bresh  down  th'  road  a  piece.  Ride  easy 
fer  th'  first  mile." 

Jim  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  and  stretching  his  arms 
above  his  head,  yawned  noisily.  "Guess  I'll  turn  in," 
he  said.  And  then  as  he  passed  Simpson,  he  put  a 
roll  of  bills  into  his  hand.  The  landlord  stepped  out 
on  the  porch  and  took  the  chair  Whitley  had  just  left, 
while  that  gentleman  slipped  quietly  out  by  the  back 
door  and  crept  away  to  his  horse. 

An  hour  later,  Whitley  knocked  at  the  door  of  the 
cabin  on  the  river  bank  and  was  admitted  by  Jake. 

"Did  ye  make  hit  all  right  ?"  the  mountaineer 
asked,  as  Jim  entered. 

The  other  nodded.  "Simpson  is  sitting  on  the 
front  porch  and  I'm  supposed  to  be  in  bed." 

Jake  chuckled.  "Cap  an'  th'  boys  air  way  up  th' 
holler  after  Bill  Davis,  an'  I'm  in  the  bresh  er 
watchin'  you.  Now  let's  git  down  ter  biz  right 
sharp." 

Whitley  soon  told  enough  of  his  story,  omitting 
352 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

names  and  places,  to  let  his  companion  understand 
the  situation. 

When  he  had  finished,  Jake  took  a  long  pull  from 
a  bottle,  and  then  said  slowly :  "An*  ye  want  me  ter 
put  that  feller  what  holds  th'  papers  out  o'  yer'  way  ?" 

Whitley  nodded.  "It'll  pay  you  a  lot  better  than 
shooting  government  agents,  and  not  half  the  risk." 

"What'll  ye  give  me  ?" 

"You  can  name  your  own  price  ?" 

The  outlaw's  face  glittered  and  he  answered  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  "I'll  do  hit.  What's  his  name,  an' 
whar'll  I  find  him?" 

"Richard  Falkner.    He  lives  in  Boyd  City — " 

Slowly  the  man  who  had  just  agreed  to  commk 
a  murder  for  money  rose  to  his  feet  and  stepped 
backward  until  half  the  width  of  the  room  was  be- 
tween them. 

The  other,  alarmed  at  the  expression  in  his  com- 
panion's face,  rose  also,  and  for  several  minutes  the 
silence  was  only  broken  by  the  crackling  of  the  burn- 
ing wood  in  the  fireplace,  the  shrill  chirp  of  a  cricket 
and  the  plaintive  call  of  a  whip-poor-will  from  with- 
out. Then  with  a  look  of  superstitious  awe  and  ter- 
ror upon  his  thin  face,  the  moonshiner  gasped,  in  a 
choking  voice,  "Boyd  City — Richard  Falkner — 
Mister,  aint  yo'  mistaken  ?  Say,  ar'  ye  right  shor*  ?" 

Whitley  replied,  with  an  oath,  "What's  the  matter 
with  you !  You  look  as  though  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

353 


THAT  PEINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

The  ignorant  villain  started  and  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  to  the  dark  corner  of  the  cabin;  "Thar' 
might  be  a  ha'nt  here,  shor'  'nough,"  he  whispered 
hoarsely.  "Do  yo'  know  whar'  ye  air,  Mister  ?" 

Then  as  Whitley  remained  silent,  he  continued: 
"This  here's  th'  house  whar'  Dickie  Falkuer  war' 
horned;  an'  whar'  his  mammy  died;  an' — an'  I'm 
Jake  Tornpkins ;  me  'n  his  daddy  war'  pards." 

Whitley  was  dazed.  He  looked  around  the  room 
as  though  in  a  dream;  then  slowly  he  realized  his 
situation  and  a  desperate  resolve  crept  into  his  heart. 
Carefully  his  hand  moved  beneath  his  coat  until  he 
felt  the  handle  of  a  long  knife,  while  he  edged  closer 
to  his  companion. 

The  other  seemed  not  to  notice,  and  continued,  as 
though  talking  to  himself:  "Little  Dickie  Falkner. 
Him  what  fed  me  when  I  war'  starvin',  an'  girume 
his  last  nickel  when  he  war'  hungry  hisself ;  an'  yo' 
want  me  ter  kill  him." — He  drew  a  long  shuddering 
breath.  "Mister,  yo'  shor'  made  'er  bad  mistake  this 
time." 

"I'll  fix  it  though,"  cried  Whitley;  and  with  an 
awful  oath  he  leaped  forward,  the  knife  uplifted. 

But  the  keen  eye  of  the  man  used  to  danger,  had 
seen  his  stealthy  preparation,  and  his  wrist  was  caught 
in  a  grasp  of  iron. 

The  city-bred  villain  was  no  match  for  his  moun- 
tain-trained companion  and  the  struggle  was  short. 

354 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Keeping  his  hold  upon  Whitley's  wrist,  Jake  threw 
his  long  right  arm  around  his  antagonist  and  drew 
him  close,  in  a  crushing  embrace.  Then,  while  he 
looked  straight  into  his  victim's  fear-lighted  eyes,  he 
slowly  forced  the  uplifted  hand  down  and  back. 

Whitley  struggled  desperately,  but  his  left  arm 
was  pinned  to  his  side  and  he  was  held  as  in  a  circle 
of  steel.  In  vain  he  writhed  and  twisted;  he  was 
helpless  in  the  powerful  grasp  of  the  mountaineer. 
Slowly  the  hand  that  held  the  knife  was  forced  be- 
hind him.  He  screamed  in  pain.  The  glittering  eyes 
that  looked  into  his  never  wavered.  Jake's  right 
hand  behind  his  back,  touched  the  knife,  and  Whitley 
saw  that  evil,  mirthless  grin  come  on  the  cruel  face, 
so  close  to  his  own.  The  grip  on  his  wrist  tightened. 
Slowly  his  arm  was  twisted  until  his  fingers  loosened 
the  hold  of  the  weapon,  and  the  handle  of  the  knife 
was  transferred  to  the  grasp  of  the  man  who  held  him. 
Then  there  were  two  quick,  strong  thrusts,  a  shud- 
dering, choking  cry,  and  the  arms  were  loosed  as  the 
stricken  man  fell  in  a  heap  on  the  cabin  floor,  on  the 
very  spot  where  years  before,  the  dying  mother  had 
prayed:  "Oh  Lord,  take  ker'  o'  Dick." 

"You— have— killed— me— " 

"I  reckon  that's  about  hit,  Mister." 

"Tell — Falkner — I — lied — Amy — is — pure — and 
tell—" 

But  the  sentence  was  never  finished. 
355 


several  weeks  of  careful  investigation 
and  study  of  the  conditions  and  needs  of 
Boyd  City,  along  the  lines  suggested  by  Rev. 
Cameron  in  his  address  before  the  Young  People's 
Union,  a  plan  to  meet  these  conditions  was  at  last 
fixed  upon,  the  main  points  of  which  were  as  follows : 
That  a  society  or  company  be  organized  and  incor4- 
porated  to  furnish  places  of  recreation  and  education 
for  young  men  and  women ;  the  place  to  be  fitted  with 
gymnasium,  library,  reading  rooms,  social  parlors, 
a  large  auditorium  and  smaller  class-rooms  for  work 
along  special  lines.  There  should  also  be  a  depart- 
ment where  men  out  of  employment  might  earn 
something  to  eat  and  a  place  to  sleep,  by  working 
in  wood-yards,  coal  mines,  factories,  or  farms  con- 
nected with  the  institution;  and  a  similar  place  for 
women.  It  also  provided  for  a  medical  dispensary 
and  hospital  for  the  care  of  the  sick.  The  whole  in- 
stitution was  to  be  under  the  charge  of  some  Chris- 
tian man  who  should  deliver  an  address  on  the  teach- 
ings of  Christ  every  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  large 
auditorium. 

359 


THAT  PEINTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

Besides  this,  Bible  classes  could  be  organized  by 
different  workers  as  they  chose,  with  this  restriction, 
that  no  teaching  of  any  particular  sect  or  denomina- 
tion should  be  allowed,  and  only  the  life  and  laws  of 
Jesus  Christ  should  be  studied.  Classes  in  other 
studies,  such  as  pertain  to  the  welfare  or  the  govern- 
ment of  the  people,  could  be  organized  for  those  who 
wished,  all  educational  work  being  under  the  super- 
1  vision  of  directors  elected  by  the  society. 

Every  department  of  the  institution  was  to  be  free 
to  the  public  at  all  hours.  To  make  this  possible,  the 
funds  of  the  Society  would  be  raised  from  the  sale  of 
shares,  for  which  the  holder  was  to  pay  annually 
twenty-five  dollars.  Members  of  the  Association 
were  entitled  to  one  vote  in  the  society  for  every  four 
shares.  It  was  expected  that  the  department  for  the 
needy  would  be  self-supporting. 

The  purpose  and  plans  of  the  society  were  to  be 
fully  set  forth  in  a  little  pamphlet,  and  placed  in  the 
hands  of  every  citizen.  The  people  were  to  be  urged 
to  co-operate  with  the  institution  by  refusing  abso- 
lutely to  give  any  man,  able  to  work,  either  food, 
clothing  or  lodging,  on  the  ground  that  he  could  obtain 
the  needed  help  by  paying  for  it  in  labor  at  the  insti- 
tution ;  and  that  they  further  assist  the  work  by  con- 
tributing clothing,  by  employing  laborers,  and  using 
the  products  of  the  institution  as  far  as  possible. 

Tfce  office  of  the  Superintendent  was  to  be  in  direct 
360 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

communication  with  the  police  station,  and  anyone 
applying  for  help  and  refusing  to  work,  when  it  was 
offered,  would  be  turned  over  to  the  authorities  to  be 
dealt  with  for  vagrancy.  The  hope  was  expressed 
that  the  city  would  co-operate  with  the  institution  by 
contributing  liberally  for  the  building  fund,  and  by 
using  the  workers  in  their  street-cleaning  department. 

When  the  time  came  to  hear  the  committee's  report, 
the  opera  house  was  crowded  as  it  seldom  was  for  any 
political  speech  or  theatrical  display.  The  young 
people  from  the  various  societies  occupied  the  front 
seats  on  the  floor  of  the  house ;  and  back  of  them,  in 
the  dress  circles  and  galleries,  were  the  general  pub- 
lic, while  on  the  rostrum  were  the  leading  business 
men,  bankers,  merchants,  and  the  city  officials,  to- 
gether with  the  committee. 

"Look  there,  .Bill,"  said  a  saloon  keeper,  who  had 
come  to  watch  his  interest,  "look  at  that.  Blast  me 
if  there  aint  Banker  Lindsley;  and  see  them  report- 
ers. And  there's  the  editor  of  the  Whistler.  Say, 
this  aint  no  bloody  church  meeting;  there  aint  a 
preacher  on  the  stage.  Them  fellers  mean  business. 
We've  got  to  watch  out  if  they  keep  on  this  tack.  And 
would  you  look  at  the  people  ?" 

"Come  on  out  of  here,"  growled  his  companion,  a 
gambler ;  "we  don't  want  any  truck  with  this  outfit." 

"I'm  going  to  stay  and  see  wljat  they  propose 


361 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

doing/'  said  the  other.    "Get  a  grip  on  yourself  and 

wait." 

Just  then  the  assembly  was  called  to  order,  and 
the  two  men  dropped  into  seats  near  the  rear  entrance. 

The  president  stated  the  object  of  the  meeting  and 
'reviewed  the  action  of  the  previous  one  at  the  Zion 
Church,  where  Cameron  had  spoken,  strongly  em- 
phasizing the  fact  that  this  was  not  a  meeting  of  the 
young  people's  societies  only,  but  that  every  one  pres- 
ent was  to  have  a  share  in  it,  and  all  should  feel  free 
to  express  themselves  either  by  voice  or  ballot.  "Mr. 
Richard  Falkner,  the  chairman  of  the  committee,  will 
make  the  report,  and  at  their  request,  will  speak  for 
a  few  moments  on  the  subject." 

As  Dick  arose  from  his  place  in  the  rear  of  the 
stage  and  stepped  forward,  the  saloon  keeper  turned 
to  his  companion,  and  in  a  loud  whisper  said,  "Say, 
aint  he  that  bum  printer  of  Udell's  ?" 

The  other  nodded  and  then  replied,  as  his  compan- 
ion began  to  speak  again,  "Shut  up,  let's  hear  what  he 
is  going  to  say." 

As  Dick  came  slowly  forward  to  the  front  of  the 
rostrum,  and  stood  for  a  moment  as  though  collecting 
himself,  the  audience,  to  a  man  almost,  echoed  the 
thought  that  the  saloon  keeper  had  so  roughly  ex- 
pressed. "Could  it  be  possible  that  this  was  the  poor 
tramp  who  had  once  gone  from  door  to  door  seeking 
a  chance  to  earn  a  crust  of  bread?"  And  then  as 

362 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

they  looked  at  the  calm,  clear-cut,  determined  feat- 
ures, and  the  tall,  well-built  figure,  neatly  clothed  in 
a  business  suit  of  brown,  they  burst  into  involuntary 
applause.  A  smile  crept  over  Dick's  face  as  he  bowed 
his  handsome  head  in  grateful  acknowledgment.  And 
then  he  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

Instantly  a  hush  fell  over  the  audience,  and  in  a 
moment  they  were  listening,  with  intense  interest, 
to  the  voice  of  the  once  tramp  printer. 

"Our  president  has  already  detailed  to  you  an  ac- 
count of  the  meeting  preceding  this.  You  understand 
that  I  am  but  the  mouthpiece  of  the  council  appointed 
at  that  time,  and  that  I  do  but  speak  their  will,  their 
thoughts,  their  aims,  as  they  have  voiced  them  in  our 
meetings." 

He  then  told  of  the  methods  adopted  by  the  com- 
mittee, of  the  help  they  had  received,  and  how  they 
had  at  last  decided  upon  the  report  which  he  was 
about  to  submit;  then  carefully  detailed  the  plan, 
enlarging  upon  the  outlines  as  he  proceeded.  Draw- 
ing upon  the  mass  of  information  gathered  in  the 
few  weeks,  he  painted  the  city  in  its  true  colors,  as 
shown  in  the  light  of  their  investigation;  and  then 
held  out  the  wonderful  promises  of  the  plan  for  the 
future. 

As  he  talked,  Dick  forgot  himself,  and  forgot  his 
audience.  He  saw  only  the  figure  of  the  Christ,  and 
heard  Him  say,  "Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of 

363 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

the  least  of  these,  my  Brethren,  ye  did  it  unto  me." 
While  his  hearers  sat  lost  to  the  surroundings  under 
the  magic  spell  of  his  eloquence;  an  eloquence  that 
even  his  most  intimate  friends  never  dreamed  that 
he  possessed. 

Charlie  Bowen  was  enraptured.  Clara  Wilson 
wept  and  laughed  and  wept  again.  Uncle  Bobbie 
could  only  say,  "I  jing,"  and  "To-be-sure,"  while 
George  Udell  sat  in  wonder.  Could  this  splendid 
man  who,  with  his  flashing  eye  and  glowing  face,  with 
burning  words  and  graceful  gestures,  was  holding 
that  immense  audience  subject  to  his  will,  could  this 
be  the  wretched  creature  who  once  fell  at  his  feet 
fainting  with  hunger?  "Truly,"  he  thought,  "the 
possibilities  of  life  are  infinite.  The  power  of  the 
human  soul  cannot  be  measured,  and  no  man  guesse? 
the  real  strength  of  his  closest  friend." 

As  Dick  finished  and  turned  to  resume  his  seat 
by  the  side  of  Mr.  Wicks,  a  perfect  furor  of  applause 
came  from  the  people.  In  vain  the  chairman  rap 
ped  for  order;  they  would  not  stop;  while  on  thf 
rostrum  men  were  crowding  about  the  young  oratoi 
standing  on  chairs  and  reaching  over  each  other'r 
shoulders  to  grasp  his  hand.  At  last,  the  president 
turned  to  Dick.  "Mr.  Falkner,  can  you  stop  them  ?" 

Dick,  with  face  now  as  pale  as  death,  and  lips 
trembling  with  emotion,  came  back  to  the  front  of 
the  stage.  "I  thank  you  again  and  again,  for  your 

364 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

kindness  and  the  honor  you  show  me,  but  may  I 
further  trespass  upon  that  kindness  by  reminding 
you  that  this  matter  will  never  be  met  by  clapping 
hands  or  applauding  voices.  Too  long  in  the  past 
have  we  applauded  when  our  hearts  were  touched, 
and  allowed  the  sentiment  to  die  away  with  the  echo 
of  our  enthusiasm.  Shall  it  be  so  this  time  ?  Men 
and  women,  in  the  name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the 
Christ  who  died  on  Calvary,  what  will  you  do  for  the 
least  of  these,  His  Brethren  ?" 

As  he  again  took  his  seat,  the  gambler,  who  with 
his  friend  had  been  sitting  drinking  in  every  word 
of  Dick's  speech,  sprang  to  his  feet  and  cried,  in  a 
loud,  clear  voice,  "Mr.  President." 

Upon  being  recognized  by  the  chair,  who  knew  him 
and  called  him  by  name,  every  head  turned,  for  all 
knew  of  Chris  Chambers,  the  most  notorious  gambler 
in  the  city. 

Said  Chambers,  "I  came  here  to-night  out  of  curi- 
osity, to  see  if  this  movement  in  any  way  threatened 
my  business  as  a  professional  gambler.  I  have,  as 
most  of  you  know,  for  the  last  five  years,  been  con- 
ducting my  place  in  your  city,  in  open  violation  of 
your  laws.  To-night,  for  the  first  time,  I  see  myself 
in  the  true  light,  and  as  a  testimony  of  my  good  faith, 
and  as  evidence  of  the  truth  of  my  statement,  when  I 
say  that  I  will  never  again  take  money  from  my  fel- 
low men  but  in  honest  business,  I  wish  to  make  the 

365 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

I»N  ..iion  that  the  report  of  this  committee  be  accepted, 
th..t  the  plan  be  approved,  and  that  the  committee  be 
discharged  with  the  hearty  thanks  of  the  citizens  of 
Boyd  City." 

The  motion  was  seconded  and  carried.  Then 
came  the  critical  moment.  For  a  full  minute  there 
was  3  pause.  "What  is  the  will  of  the  meeting  ?" 
said  the  chairman,  calmly,  but  with  a  silent  prayer. 
There  was  a  buzz  of  conversation  all  over  the  house. 
Every  man  was  asking  his  neighbor,  "What  next  ?" 

For  a  short  time  it  looked  as  if  things  were  at  a 
standstill,  but  upon  the  stage  men  were  putting  their 
heads  together,  and  soon  Banker  Lindsley  shouted: 
"Mr.  Chairman." 

Instantly  the  people  became  quiet  and  all  turned  to- 
ward Boyd  City's  leading  financier. 

"I  am  requested  to  ask  all  those  who  wish  to  become 
charter  members  of  an  association  as  suggested  in 
the  report  of  the  council,  to  meet  here  on  the  stage 
at  once,  and  I  move  that  we  adjourn." 

The  president,  after  calling  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence to  the  importance  of  answering  Mr.  Lindsley's 
request,  immediately  put  the  question,  and  the  as- 
sembly was  dismissed. 

Among  the  first  to  push  his  way  to  the  front  was 
the  stalwart  form  of  the  gambler,  Chambers,  and  the 
stage  was  soon  crowded  with  business  men  and  not  a 
few  women.  Mr.  Lindsley  looked  around.  "Where's 

366 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Falkner  ?"  he  said.  !N"o  one  knew.  And  when  Dick 
could  not  be  found,  Mr.  Lindslej  called  the  company 
to  order. 

The  editor  of  the  Whistler  was  chosen  to  preside, 
with  Mr.  Conklin  the  express  agent,  for  secretary. 
Then  a  committee  on  constitution  and  by-laws  was 
appointed,  and  the  company  adjourned  to  meet  in  the 
Commercial  Club  rooms  the  next  Wednesday  night. 

But  where  was  Dick  ?  Unnoticed  by  the  audience 
while  their  attention  was  diverted  toward  Mr.  Linds- 
ley,  he  had  slipped  from  the  rear  of  the  stage  and 
had  made  his  way  by  the  back  stairs  to  the  street. 
A  half  hour  later,  some  of  the  people,  on  their  way 
home  from  the  meeting,  noticed  a  tall  figure,  dressed 
in  a  business  suit  of  brown,  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  catalpa  trees  on  the  avenue,  looking  upward 
at  a  church  spire,  built  in  the  form  of  a  giant  hand, 
and  at  the  darkened  stained-glass  window,  in  which 
was  wrought  the  figure  of  the  Christ  holding  a  lamb  in 
his  arms.  Later,  they  might  have  seen  the  same  figure 
walking  slowly  past  a  beautiful  residence  a  few 
blocks  farther  up  the  street,  and  when  opposite  a 
corner  window,  pausing  a  moment  to  stand  with  bared 
head,  while  the  lips  moved  softly  as  though  whisper- 
ing a  benediction  upon  one  whose  memory  filled  the 
place  with  pleasure  and  with  pain. 

About  one  o'clock  on  the  following  Wednesday, 
Uncle  Bobbie  Wicks  dropped  into  the  printing  office. 

367 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Udell  had  not  returned  from  dinner.  "Good  after- 
noon, Mr.  Wicks,"  said  Dick,  looking  up  from  hia 
work,  "take  a  seat.  You  want  to  see  a  proof  of  those 
letter-heads,  I  suppose.  Jack,  take  a  proof  of  that 
stuff  of  Mr.  Wicks'." 

Uncle  Bobbie  sank,  puffing,  into  a  ehair.  "I  jing. 
Wish't  I  didn't  get  so  fat.  Quit  smokin'  about  a 
month  ago.  Wife,  she  wanted  me  to.  To-be-sure, 
I  don't  care  nothin'  f  er  it  nohow.  Mighty  mean  habit 
too.  Where's  your  pipe  ?" 

Dick  smiled.    "Oh,  I  haven't  any  now." 
"Uh !  took  to  smokin'  segars,  I  reckon." 
"tfo,"  said  Dick,  "I  don't  smoke  at  all." 
"Oh."    Uncle  Bobbie  looked  long  and  thoughtfully 
at  his  young  friend.     "To-be-sure,  I  don't,  much. — 
But  I  told  wife  this  mornin'  I'd  have  to  begin  agin 
if  I  don't  quit  gettin'  so  plaguey  fat.    D'  ye  reckon 
it'd  make  me  sick?" 

Diek  laughed.  "You  look  rather  fleshy,"  he  said, 
encouragingly. 

"Well,  you're  a  good  deal  fatter  yourself,  than  you 
were  when  I  first  seen  you,"  said  Uncle  Bobbie,  look- 
ing him  over  with  a  critical  eye. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Dick,  "I  guess  I  am ;  these  are  my 
fat  years  you  know.  I'm  getting  to  look  at  those  lean 
ones  as  a  very  bad  dream." 

Dick's  young  helper  handed  them  a  proof-sheet, 
and  after  looking  over  the  work  for  a  few  moments, 

368 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

Mr.  Wicks  said:  "That  new  Association  meets 
t'-night,  don't  it?"  Dick  nodded;  and  the  old  gen- 
tleman continued  carelessly,  as  he  arose  to  go,  "Stop 
f er  me  when  you  go  by,  will  you  ?  An'  we'll  go  down 
t'gether." 

"But  I'm  not  going,"  said  Diek,  quickly.  Uncle 
Bobbie  dropped  back  in  his  seat  with  a  jar  and 
grasped  the  arms  of  his  chair,  as  though  about  to  be 
thrown  bodily  to  the  ceiling.  "Xot  goin',"  he  gasped ; 
"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  And  he  glared 
wildly  at  the  young  man. 

"Nothing  particularly  new  is  the  matter,"  said 
Dick,  smiling  at  the  old  gentleman's  astonishment. 
"My  reason  is  that  I  cannot  become  a  member  of  the 
Association  when  it  is  organized,  and  so  have  no  right 
to  attend  the  meeting  to-night.  I  may  go  in  after  a 
time,  but  I  cannot  now." 

"Why  not  ?"  said  Mr.  Wicks,  still  glaring. 

"Because  I  haven't  the  money." 

Uncle  Bobbie  settled  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  "Oh,  is  that  all  ?  To-be-sure,  I  thought 
mebbe  you'd  got  your  back  up  'bout  somthin'." 

"Yes,  that's  all,"  said  Dick  quietly,  and  did  not 
explain  how  he  had  spent  everything  in  his  search 
for  the  wealthy  hardware  merchant's  daughter.  But 
perhaps  Uncle  Bobbie  needed  no  explanation. 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you,  you're  goin'  anyhow;  and 
you're  goin'  t'  have  votin'  power  too.  Be  a  pretty 

369 


THAT  PEINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

kettle  o'  fish  if  after  that  speech  of  your'n,  you 
weren't  in  the  company.  Be  like  tryin'  to  make  a 
cheese  'thout  any  milk." 

"But  I  haven't  the  money  and  that's  all  there  is 
about  it.    I  will  go  in  as  soon  as  I  can." 
''Well,  ye  can  borrow  it,  can't  you?" 
"Borrow.     What  security  can  I  give '?" 
"Aint  ye'r  Christianity  security  enough?" 
Dick  laughed  at  him.     "Is  that  the  way  men  do 
business  in  Boyd  City?" 

"Well,  ye  kin  laugh  if  you  want  to,  but  that's 
'bout  th'  best  security  a  feller  can  have  in  th'  long 
run.  Anyhow,  it's  good  'nough  fer  me.  I'll  lend  you 
a  hundred  fer  a  year.  To-be-sure,"  he  added  hastily, 
as  he  saw  Dick's  face,  "You'll  have  to  pay  me  th' 
same  interest  I  can  git  from  the  other  fellers.  I've 
got  th'  money  to  loan,  and  its  all  th'  same  to  me 
whether  I  loan  it  to  you  or  some  other  man." 
"Suppose  I  die,  then  what  ?"  asked  Dick. 
"Well,  if  Christ  goes  on  yer  note  I  reckon  it'll  be 
good  sometime,"  muttered  Uncle  Bobbie,  half  to 
himself,  as  he  took  a  check-book  from  his  pocket  and 
filled  it  out.  "I'll  fix  up  th'  papers  this  afternoon. 
Don't  forget  t'  stop  fer  me." 

When  Dick  and  Uncle  Bobbie  reached  the  rooms 
of  the  Commercial  Club  that  evening,  they  found 
them  filled  with  a  large  company  of  interested  citi- 


370 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

zens,  and  when  the  opportunity  was  given,  over  two 
hundred  enrolled  as  members  of  the  Association. 

Mr.  Lindsley,  the  banker,  was  elected  president, 
with  Mr.  Wallace,  a  merchant,  for  vice  president. 
Then,  with  great  enthusiasm,  the  unanimous  bal- 
lot of  the  Association  was  cast  for  Mr.  Richard  Falk- 
ner  as  secretary,  while  to  Dick's  great  delight,  Uncle 
Bobbie  was  given  the  place  of  treasurer. 

The  papers  of  the  city  gave  a  full  and  enthusiastic 
account  of  the  new  movement,  and  when  the  citizens 
saw  that  the  Association  was  really  a  fact,  with  men 
at  its  head  who  were  so  well  qualified  to  fill  their 
respective  positions,  they  had  confidence  in  the  plan, 
and  began  straightway  to  express  that  confidence  by 
becoming  members. 

A  prospectus  setting  forth  the  object  of  the  Associa- 
tion, together  with  its  plans  and  constitution,  was 
gotten  out  by  the  secretary,  and  sent  to  the  citizens. 
The  papers  continued  to  speak  well  of  the  plan,  and 
finally,  through  the  influence  of  the  strong  business 
men  interested,  the  Commercial  Club  endorsed  the 
movement,  and  through  the  influence  of  that  body,  the 
city  appropriated  five  thousand  dollars  to  the  build- 
ing fund,  and  one  thousand  a  year,  for  five  years. 

With  such  backing  as  it  now  had,  the  Associa- 
tion began  preparation  for  active  work.  A  fine  build- 
ing site  was  purchased  and  Dick  was  sent  to  study 


371 


different  plans  and  institutions  that  were  in  operation 
for  similar  work  in  several  of  the  large  cities. 

<rWell,  good-bye  old  man/'  said  Udell,  when  Dick 
ran  into  the  .office  on  his  way  to  the  depot.  "I  can 
see  right  now  that  I'll  lose  a  mighty  good  printer  one 
of  these  days." 

Dick  shook  his  head  as  he  grasped  his  employer's 
hand,  and  with  hope  shining  in  his  eyes,  replied: 
"You  know  why  I  am  glad  for  this  chance  to  go  east 
again,  George." 

And  his  friend  answered,  "Right  as  usual,  Dickie ; 
God  bless  you.  If  Clara  was  somewhere  way  out 
there  in  the  big  world  without  a  friend,  I — I  reckon 
I'd  go  too." 


372 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


I  MY  was  kindly  received  by  Madam  when 
she  reached  her  house  after  that  terrible 
night  on  the  streets  of  Cleveland,  and  under 
the  woman's  skillful  treatment,  rapidly  regained  her 
strength  and  beauty.  Never  doubting  that  Whitley 
had  made  it  impossible  for  her  ever  to  return  to 
Boyd  City,  she  felt  that  she  was  dead  to  the  kindly 
world  she  had  once  known,  and  looked  upon  the  life 
she  was  entering  as  her  only  refuge  from  the 
cruel  world  she  had  learned  to  know.  Several  of 
the  girls  proved  very  pleasant  and  sympathetic  com- 
panions. Little  by  little  she  grew  accustomed  to 
her  surroundings  and  learned  to  look  upon  the  life 
they  led  from  their  point  of  view ;  and  when  the  time 
came  for  her  to  join  the  company  in  the  parlor  she 
accepted  her  lot  with  calm  resignation. 

When  she  had  carefully  dressed  in  a  silken  evening 
gown  provided  by  Madam,  she  made  her  way  alone 
down  to  the  wine  rooms.  The  scene  that  met  her  eye 
was  beautiful  and  fascinating.  The  apartment  was 
large  and  brilliantly  lighted ;  the  furniture,  appoint- 

375 


THAT,  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

ments  and  pictures  were  of  the  finest,  with  rare  bits 
of  statuary  half -hidden  in  banks  of  choicest  flowers. 
Upon  the  floor  were  carpets  and  rugs,  in  which  the 
foot  sank  as  in  beds  of  moss;  and  luxurious  chairs 
and  couches  invited  the  visitor  to  ease  and  indolence. 
From  behind  silken  curtains  came  soft  straims  of. 
music,  and  deft  waiters  glided  here  and  there,  bear- 
ing trays  of  expensive  wines  and  liquors. 

Seated  at  the  card  tables,  drinking,  laughing  and 
playing,  were  the  wealthy  patrons  of  the  place,  and 
mingling  with  them,  the  girls,  all  of  exceptional  grace 
and  beauty,  dressed  in  glittering  evening  costume; 
but  not  one  eclipsed  the  radiant  creature  who  stood 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  shining  eyes  hesitating  on  the 
threshold. 

Madam,  moving  here  and  there  among  her  guests, 
saw  Amy  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  went  to  her 
at  once.  Leading  the  girl  to  a  little  alcove  at  one  end 
of  the  room,  she  presented  her  to  a  middle-aged  man 
who  was  seated  by  himself  and  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  someone.  Amy  did  not  know  that  he  was  waiting 
for  her.  As  the  three  stood  there  chatting,  a  servant 
came  quietly  to  Madam's  side  and  whispered  in  her 
jeweled  ear. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered,  "Tell  them  to  come 
in."  Then  turning,  she  stepped  to  a  table  and 
rapping  with  her  fan  to  attract  attention,  cried,  "The 


376 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

Salvation  Army  people  want  to  hold  a  prayer  meet- 
ing here,  what  do  you  say  ?" 

There  was  a  babble  of  voices,  shrieks  of  feminine 
laughter,  and  an  oath  or  two  from  the  men.  Some 
shouted,  "Let  them  come."  Others  protested  until 
Madam  stopped  the  clamor  by  saying  sharply: 
"Of  course  they  shall  come  in.  You  know  it  is 
my  custom  never  to  refuse  these  people.  I  respect 
and  admire  them.  They  believe  in  their  own  teaching 
and  live  what  they  preach ;  and  I  want  it  understood 
that  they  shall  not  be  insulted  in  this  house.  Jake — " 
A  huge  ex-prize  fighter  stepped  into  the  room  from  a 
side  door.  "You  all  know  Jake,  gentlemen,"  con- 
tinued Madam,  with  a  smile;  "and  if  you  are  not 
acquainted  with  him  you  can  easily  obtain  an  intro- 
duction by  making  some  slighting  remark,  or  offering 
an  insult  to  these  Salvation  Soldiers.  Here  th«y 
oome ;  remember." 

As  the  little  band  of  men  and  women  filed  slowly 
in,  everybody  rose  at  a  sign  from  Madam,  and  gath- 
ered about  the  soldiers,  who  took  their  position  in 
the  center  of  the  room;  all  except  the  girl  in  the 
alcove,  who  turned  her  back  to  the  group  and  stood 
partly  screened  by  the  lace  drapery  of  the  archway. 

The  visitors  opened  their  service  with  a  song,  ren- 
dered with  much  good  taste  and  feeling.  !N"ot  loud 
and  martial  as  on  the  street,  but  soft,  lovr  and  plead- 
ing. Many  eyes  glistened  and  many  lips  trembled 

377 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

when  the  song  came  to  a  close;  and  as  the  singers 
dropped  to  their  knees,  not  a  few  heads  involuntarily 
bowed. 

One  after  another,  the  little  band  prayed,  pleading 
with  God  to  be  kind  and  merciful  to  the  erring ;  ask- 
ing the  Father,  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  to  pity  and 
forgive.  Truly  it  was  a  picture  of  great  contrasts — i 
of  brightest  lights  and  deepest  shadows — almost  as 
when  the  Son  of  God  prayed  for  his  enemies,  and 
wept  because  they  were  his  enemies. 

Three  out  of  the  six  had  offered  their  prayers  and 
the  fourth  began  to  speak:  "Our  Father  and  our 
God," — At  the  first  word,  uttered  in  a  clear,  manly, 
but  subdued  tone,  the  girl  behind  the  curtain  started 
violently ;  and  as  the  prayer  continued  slowly,  in  that 
voice  so  full  of  manly  truth  and  vigor,  she  raised 
her  head  and  the  rich  blood  colored  neck  and  cheek. 
Little  by  little  the  hard  look  in  her  eyes  gave  way  to 
mingled  wonder,  doubt  and  awe ;  then  the  blood  fled 
back  to  the  trembling  heart  again,  leaving  her  face  as 
white  as  the  marble  figure  near  which  she  stood ;  and 
then,  as  though  compelled  by  a  power  superior  to  her 
own  will,  she  turned  slowly,  and  stepped  from  her 
hiding  place  into  full  view.  As  if  stricken  dumb,  she 
stood  until  the  prayer  was  finished.  The  captain 
gave  the  signal  and  the  little  company  rose  to  their 
feet. 

"O  God!"  The  young  soldier  who  had  prayed 
378 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

last,  sprang  forward;  but  he  was  not  quick  enough, 
for  before  he  could  cross  the  room,  with  a  moan  of 
unutterable  anguish,  the  girl  sank  to  the  floor. 

"God  help  us,  she's  dead,"  cried  Dick.  And  drop- 
ping on  one  knee,  he  supported  the  senseless  girl  ia 
his  arms. 

All  was  confusion  in  an  instant.  Men  and  women 
crowded  about  their  companion,  and  the  Salvation- 
ists looked  at  one  another  in  pity,  surprise  and  won- 
der. Then  Madam  spoke:  "Girls  be  quiet.  Gen- 
tlemen make  way.  Amy  is  not  dead.  Bring  her  in 
here."  The  stalwart  prize-fighter  touched  Dick  on 
the  shoulder  and  the  latter,  with  the  lovely  form  still 
in  his  arms,  followed  as  in  a  dream,  to  Madam's  own 
private  apartments.  A  doctor  came,  in  answer  to  a 
hurried  call,  and  after  no  little  effort  the  color  slowly 
returned  to  the  cheeks  and  the  long,  dark  lashes  began 
to  tremble. 

The  physician  turned  to  Dick.  <cLeave  us  now; 
she  must  not  see  you  at  first." 

Dick  looked  at  Madam.  "May  I  have  a  few  words 
privately  with  you  ?" 

The  woman  nodded ;  and  with  the  Army  captain, 
they  retired  to  another  room,  leaving  Amy  in  charge 
of  the  doctor  and  one  of  the  Salvation  lassies. 

Then  Dick  told  Madam  and  the  captain  the  whole 
story  of  Amy's  life  and  home,  how  she  had  gone  away 
because  of  her  father's  mistake,  how  Whitley  had 

379 


THAT  PKINTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

deceived  her,  and  how  they  had  searched  for  her  in 
vain.  Then  as  he  told  of  the  mother's  broken  health, 
and  the  sorrowing  friends,  though  he  made  no  men- 
tion of  himself,  they  could  not  but  read  as  he  spoke 
of  others,  something  of  his  own  trouble. 

Tears  gathered  in  Madam's  eyes,  and  when  the  tale, 
was  finished,  she  said:  "Somehow  I  have  always 
felt  that  Amy  would  never  remain  with  us."  And 
then  she  told  of  the  poor  girl's  bitter  experience  alone 
in  the  great  city,  and  how  as  a  last  resort,  she  had 
accepted  her  present  situation.  "She  is  more  refined 
and  gentle  than  the  others,"  continued  Madam,  "and 
in  my  heart,  I  have  always  hoped  that  she  would  leave 
here.  But  what  could  she  do  ?  She  had  no  friends ; 
and  we  can't  afford  to  have  any  feelings  in  this 
wretched  business.  Oh  sir,  this  life  is  a  very  Hell  on 
earth,  and  bad  as  I  am,  I  would  never  lay  a  straw 
in  any  girl's  way  who  wanted  to  get  out  of  it.  I  am 
glad,  glad,  that  you  came  in  time.  You  know,  cap- 
tain, that  I  have  never  opposed  your  work ;  and  have 
seen  you  take  several  girls  from  my  place  without 
protest.  But  I  can't  be  expected  to  look  after  them 
myself." 

They  discussed  the  situation  for  some  time,  and 
finally  Madam  said  again,  "Mr. — ;  I  don't  know 
your  name,  and  I  don't  want  to ;  you  wear  that  uni- 
form and  that's  enough  for  me-just  let  Amy  remain 
here  for  a  day  or  two.  One  of  the  Salvation  girls  will 

380 


stay  with  her,  and  can  do  more  for  her  than  you.  She 
shall  have  my  own  room  and  no  one  shall  see  her. 
Then  when  she  is  strong  enough,  you  may  come  and 
take  her  if  she  will  go ;  and  I  am  sure  she  will.  She 
will  be  as  safe  here  as  in  her  father's  home." 

The  captain  nodded.  "Madam  has  passed  her 
word,  sir,"  he  said.  "You  come  with  me  and  arrange 
for  the  future  while  your  friend  is  getting  strong 
again.  Our  Sarah  will  remain  with  her  and  keep 
us  posted." 

•Dick  yielded;  and  after  hearing  from  the  doctor 
that  Amy  was  resting  easier,  they  bade  Madam  good- 
night and  passed  out  into  the  room  where  again  the 
music  played,  jewels  sparkled,  wine  flowed,  and  the 
eareless  laugh  and  jest  were  heard. 

With  a  shudder  of  horror  Dick  muttered,  "My  God, 
Amy  in  such  a  place."  And  yet — another  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind,  that  brought  a  flush  of 
shame  to  his  cheek.  "But  Amy — "  And  again  the 
strong  man  trembled,  weeping  like  a  child. 

Never,  though  he  lived  to  be  an  old  man,  could 
Dick  look  back  upon  that  night  and  the  days  follow- 
ing, without  turning  pale.  How  he  lived  through  it 
he  never  knew.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  had  suf- 
fered so  much  in  his  checkered  career  that  he  was 
enabled  to  bear  that  which  otherwise  would  have  been 
impossible.  And  the  consciousness  of  the  great  change 


381 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

in  his  own  life  led  him  to  hope  for  Amy,  when  others 
would  have  given  up  in  despair. 

On  his  tour  of  study  and  investigation  for  the  As- 
sociation, he  had  presented  his  letters  to  the  Salvation 
Army  people,  and  had  been  warmly  welcomed  by 
them,  as  is  everyone  who  manifests  a  desire  to  help 
humanity.  Every  kindness  and  courtesy  was  shown 
him,  and  at  the  invitation  of  the  captain,  he  had  gone 
with  them  on  one  of  their  regular  rescue  trips.  He  had 
donned  the  uniform  of  the  Army,  for  greater  con- 
venience and  safety;  for  the  blue  and  red  of  these 
soldiers  of  the  cross  is  received  and  honored  in  places 
where  no  ordinary  church  member,  whatever  be  his 
professed  purpose,  would  be  admitted. 

While  Dick  and  his  friends  planned  for  Amy's, 
future,  Sarah,  the  Salvation  girl,  remained  by  her 
bedside  caring  for  her  as  a  sister.  !N"ot  one  hint  of 
reproach  or  censure  fell  from  her  lips;  only  words 
of  loving  kindness,  of  hope  and  courage.  At  first 
the  poor  girl  refused  to  listen,  but  sobbing  wildly, 
cried  that  her  life  was  ruined,  that  she  could  only  go 
on  as  she  had  started,  and  begged  that  they  leave  her 
alone  in  her  disgrace  and  sin. 

But  Sarah  herself  could  say,  "I  know  sister,  I  have 
been  through  it  all;  and  if  Jesus  could  save  me  he 
can  save  you  too."  So  at  last  lov«  and  hope  con- 
quered; and  as  soon  as  she  was  strong  enough,  she 


382 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

left  the  place  and  went  with  Sarah  to  the  latter;s 
humble  home.    There  Dick  called  to  see  her. 

"Mr.  Falkner,"  she  said,  sadly,  after  the  pain  and 
embarrassment  of  the  first  meeting  had  passed  off  s 
little.  "I  do  not  understand;  what  makes  you  do 
these  things  ?" 

And  Dick  answered,  "Did  I  not  tell  you  once  thai 
nothing  could  make  me  change;  that  nothing  you 
could  do  would  make  me  less  your  friend  ?  You 
might,  for  the  time  being,  make  it  impossible  for  me 
to  help  you,  but  the  desire,  the  wish,  was  there  just 
the  same,  and  sought  only  an  opportunity  to  express 
itself.  And  besides  this,"  he  added  gently,  "you  know 
I'm  a  Christian  now." 

Amy  hung  her  head.  "Yes,"  she  said  slowly,  "you 
are  a  Christian.  These  Salvation  soldiers  are  Chris- 
tians too ;  and  I — I — am — oh,  Mr.  Falkner,  help  me 
now.  Be  indeed  my  friend.  Tell  me  what  to  do.  I 
cannot  go  back  home  like  this.  I  do  believe  in  Christ 
and  that  He  sent  you  to  me.  I'm  so  tired  of  this 
world,  for  I  know  the  awf ulness  of  it  now ;  and  these 
good  people  have  taught  me  that  one  can  live  close  to 
Christ,  even  in  the  most  unfavorable  circumstances." 

Dick  told  her  of  their  plan;  how  his  friend,  the 
captain,  had  arranged  for  her  to  live  with  his  brother 
on  a  farm  in  northern  Missouri,  and  that  they  only 
wanted  her  consent  to  start  at  once.  Would  she  go  ? 


383 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"But  how  can  I?  I  have  no  money,  and  I  have 
never  been  taught  to  work." 

"Miss  Goodrich,"  answered  Dick,  "can  you  not 
trust  me  ?" 

Amy  was  silent. 

"You  must  let  me  help  you  in  this.  Thank  God, 
I  can  do  it  now.  Prove  to  me  that  you  are  still  my 
friend,  by  letting  me  make  this  investment  for 
Christ.  Will  you?" 

The  next  day  they  bade  good-bye  to  the  sturdy 
soldiers  of  the  cross  who  had  been  so  true  to  them, 
and  started  on  their  westward  journey. 

Dick  saw  Amy  safe  in  her  new  home,  and  then 
with  a  promise  that  she  would  write  to  him  regularly, 
and  an  agreement  that  he  would  send  her  letters  and 
papers  addressed  to  the  people  with  whom  she  lived, 
he  left  her ;  satisfied  that  she  was  in  kind  hands,  and 
that  a  new  life  was  open  before  her. 

But  when  Dick  was  once  more  aboard  the  train, 
alone  with  his  thoughts,  without  the  anxiety  for 
Amy's  immediate  welfare  upon  his  mind,  the  struggle 
of  his  life  began.  He  loved  Amy  dearly ;  had  loved 
her  almost  from  the  moment  she  came  into  George 
Udell's  printing  office  three  years  ago;  loved  her  in' 
spite  of  the  difference  in  their  position,  when  he  !Was 
only  a  tramp  and  she  was  the  favored  daughter  of 
wealth;  when  he  was  an  unbeliever  and  she  was  a 
>TOrker  in  the  church;  loved  her  when  he  saw  her 

384 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

losing  her  hold  on  the  higher  life  and  drifting  with 
the  current ;  loved  her  when  she  left  home,  and  as  he 
thought,  honor  behind.  And  he  was  forced  to  confess, 
in  his  own  heart,  that  he  loved  her  yet,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  their  positions  were  reversed ;  that  he  was 
an  honored  gentleman,  respected  and  trusted  by  all, 
while  she,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  was  a  fallen 
woman  with  no  friend  but  himself. 

But  what  of  the  future?  Dick's  dreams  had  always 
been  that  he  would  win  such  a  position  in  the  world 
as  would  enable  him,  with  confidence,  to  ask  her  to 
share  his  life.  But  always  there  had  been  the  feeling 
that  he  never  could  be  worthy.  And  with  the  dark 
picture  of  his  own  past  before  him,  he  knew  he  had 
no  right  to  think  of  her  as  his  wife.  But  now  there 
was  no  question  as  to  his  position.  But  what  of  hers? 
Could  he  think  of  taking  for  a  wife,  one  whom  he  had 
seen  in  that  house  at  Cleveland?  On  the  one  hand, 
his  love  plead  for  her ;  on  the  other,  the  horror  of  her 
life  argued  against  it.  Again  his  sense  of  justice 
plead,  and  his  own  life  came  before  him  like  a  horrid 
vision  as  it  had  done  that  morning  when  he  learned 
of  his  father's  death.  He  saw  his  childhood  home, 
smelt  the  odor  of  the  fragrant  pines  upon  the  hills, 
and  heard  the  murmur  of  the  river  running  past  the 
cabin.  Again  he  heard  his  drunken  father  cursing 
in  his  sleep,  and  caught  the  whisper  of  his  mother's 
dying  prayer ;  and  again  he  crept  stealthily  out  of  the 

685 


THAT  PKIiNTER  OF  UDELL'S 

cabin  into  the  glory  of  the  morning,  with  a  lean  hound 
his  only  companion. 

Slowly  and  painfully  he  traced  his  way  along  the 
road  of  memory,  recalling  every  place  where  he  had 
advanced;  every  place  where  he  had  fallen;  going 
step  by  step  from  the  innocence  of  boyhood  to  the 
awful  knowledge  of  the  man  of  the  world.  He  had 
fought,  had  fallen,  had  conquered  and  risen  again ; 
always  advancing  toward  the  light,  but  always  bear- 
ing on  his  garment  the  smell  of  the  fire,  and  upon  his 
hands  the  stain  of  the  pitch.  And  now,  because  he 
was  safe  at  last  and  could  look  back  upon  those  things, 
should  he  condemn  another?  "Would  not  Amy  also 
conquer,  and  when  she  had  conquered,  by  what  right 
could  he  demand  in  her  that  which  he  had  not  in  him- 
self? Christ  would  as  freely  welcome  her  as  He  had 
welcomed  him.  Christianity  held  out  as  many 
glorious  hopes  for  her  as  for  him.  Her  past  might 
be  past  as  well  as  his.  Why  should  he  not  shut  the 
door  upon  it  forever,  and  live  only  in  the  present 
and  future?  And  then  his  mind  fell  to  picturing 
what  that  future,  with  Amy  by  his  side,  might  be. 
They  were  equals  now,  before  God  and  their  own 
consciences.  What  should  he  care  for  the  world? 

And  so  the  fight  went  on  in  the  battle-ground  of  his 
inner  life,  until  the  whistle  blew  a  long  blast  for  the 
station,  and  looking  from  the  window  of  the  car,  he 
saw  the  smelter  smoke  and  dust  of  Boyd  City. 

386 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


BARTON  and  his  wife,  Anna,  with 
whom  Amy  was  to  make  her  home  for  a 
while,  could  fully  sympathize  with  the  girl 
in  her  sad  position,  though  one  would  never  dream 
that  the  quiet,  reserved  John  knew  more  of  life  than 
of  his  pigs  and  cattle,  or  that  his  jolly-faced,  motherly 
companion  had  ever  been  beyond  the  quiet  fields  that 
surrounded  her  simple  dwelling.  Years  before,  they 
had  been  rescued  from  the  world  in  which  Amy  had 
so  nearly  perished,  by  the  same  kind  hand  that  had 
been  stretched  out  to  her,  the  Salvation  Army;  and 
now  well  on  in  middle  life,  happy  and  prosperous, 
they  showed  scarce  a  trace  of  the  trouble  that  had 
driven  them  to  labor  on  a  farm.  As  hired  help,  they 
had  gained  their  experience,  and  by  ceaseless  industry 
and  careful  economy,  had  at  last  come  to  own  the 
place  where  they  now  lived.  With  no  child  of  her 
own,  Mrs.  Barton  took  a  mother's  place  in  Amy's 
life  from  the  first,  and  was  very  patient  with  the  girl 
who  had  never  been  taught  to  do  the  simplest  house- 
hold task.  Amy  returned  the  loving  kindness  full 

389 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

measure,  and,  determined  to  be  a  help  to  those  who 
so  much  helped  her,  advanced  rapidly  in  the  know- 
ledge of  her  homely  duties.  Dressed  in  the  plain 
working  garb  of  a  farm  girl,  with  arms  bare  and  face 
flushed  by  the  heat  of  the  kitchen,  one  would  scarcely 
have  recognized  in  her  the  beautiful  young  woman 
who  moved  with  Boyd  City's  society  leaders,  or  the 
brilliant  novice  who  stood  hestitating  at  the  entrance 
to  a  life  of  sin  in  Madam's  wine-rooms ;  and  certainly, 
one  would  never  have  classed  the  bright  eyes,  plump 
cheeks,  and  well-rounded  figure,  with  the  frightened, 
starving,  haggard  thing  that  roamed  about  the  streets 
of  Cleveland  a  few  short  months  before. 

But  great  as  was  the  change  in  Amy's  outward  ap- 
pearance, the  change  within  was  even  greater.  She 
was  no  longer  the  thoughtless,  proud,  pleasure-loving 
belle  that  her  parents  had  trained;  nor  was  she  the 
hard,  reckless,  hopeless  creature  that  the  world  had 
made.  But  she  was  a  woman  now,  with  a  true 
woman's  interest  and  purpose  in  life.  The  shallow 
brilliance  of  the  society  girl  had  given  place  to 
thoughtful  earnestness,  and  the  dreary  sadness  of  the 
outcast  had  changed  to  bright  hopefulness. 

One  warm  day  in  June,  Mrs.  Barton  laid  the  last 
neatly  ironed  garment  on  the  big  pile  of  clothes  near- 
by, and  noisily  pushing  her  irons  to  the  back  of  the 
atove,  cried,  "Thank  goodness,  that's  the  last  of  that 
for  this  week."  And  "Thank  goodness,  that's  the  last 

390 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

of  that,"  exclaimed  Amy,  mimicking  the  voice  of  her 
friend  as  she  threw  out  the  dishwater  and  hung  the 
empty  pan  in  its  place. 

Anna  wiped  the  perspiration  from  her  steaming 
face.  "Come  on;  let's  get  out  of  this  Inferno  for  a 
while  and  do  our  patching  in  the  shade.  I  shall  melt 
if  I  stay  here  a  minute  longer."  And  the  two  were 
soon  seated  in  their  low  chairs  on  the  cool  poroh,  with 
a  big  basket  of  mending  between  them. 

"Hello,  there's  our  man  back  from  town  already," 
suddenly  exclaimed  Anna  a  few  minutes  later,  as  her 
husband  drove  into  the  barnyard;  then  with  a  mis- 
chievous twinkle  in  her  blue  eyes,  she  called,  "Hurry 
up,  John,  Amy  wants  her  letter."  John  smiled 
in  his  quiet  way  as  he  came  up  to  the  porch  and 
handed  the  girl  an  envelope  with  the  Boyd  City  post- 
mark. Then  the  old  people  both  laughed  at  the 
other's  pretty  confusion  when  Anna,  rising,  said  in 
her  teasing  voice,  "Come  on  hubby,  I'll  fix  your  din- 
ner. We've  kept  it  warm.  Can't  you  see  the  selfish 
thing  wants  to  be  alone  with  her  treasure  ?" 

But  when  Mrs.  Barton  returned  to  her  mending, 
after  a  long  talk  with  her  husband,  her  jolly  face 
wore  an  expression  of  seriousness  that  was  unusual, 
and  she  failed  to  notice  that  Amy's  hands  were  idle 
and  her  work  was  lying  untouched  in  her  lap  as  she 
sat  looking  wistfully  far  away  across  the  sunlit 
meadows  and  pastures. 

391 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Both  took  up  their  tasks  in  silence  and  plied  their 
needles  with  energy,  while  their  thoughts  were  far 
away ;  but  one  thought  of  a  great  city  in  the  far-away 
east;  the  other  of  a  bustling  mining  town  in  the 
nearer  west. 

At  last  Anna  spoke  with  a  little  sigh :  "Amy  dear, 
I  suppose  you  will  be  leaving  us  one  of  these  days 
before  long." 

The  girl  answered  with  a  loving  smile:  "Are 
you  so  tired  of  me  that  you  are  going  to  send  me  out 
into  the  world  again  ?" 

"JSTo,  no,  dear.  You  have  a  home  with  John  and 
me  as  long  as  you  live.  Surely  you  know  that,  don't 
you,  Amy  dear  ?"  There  was  a  wistful  note  in  the 
kind  voice,  and  dropping  the  stocking  she  was  darn- 
ing, Anna  leaned  forward  and  placed  her  hand  on 
the  arm  of  Amy's  chair. 

A  rush  of  tears  was  her  answer,  as  the  girl  caught 
the  toil-stained  hand  and  carried  it  passionately  to 
her  lips.  "Of  course  I  know.  Mother  forgive  me; 
I  was  only  'funnin'  as  little  Jimmie  Clark  says." 

"But  I  am  not  'funnin,'  "  replied  the  other.  "I'm 
awfully  in  earnest." 

There  seemed  to  be  a  hidden  meaning  in  her  words 
and  Amy  looked  at  her  anxiously.  "I  do  not  under- 
stand why  you  think  that  I  should  leave  you,"  she 
said  earnestly. 

"Because — because — I — this  life  must  be  so  d<*> 
392 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

grading  to  you.  You  could  live  so  differently  at 
home.  You  must  feel  this  keenly." 

Amy  looked  at  her  steadily.  "That  is  not  your 
reason,  Mother,"  she  said  gently.  "You  know  that 
a  woman  degrades  herself  when  she  does  nothing 
useful,  and  that  I  count  my  present  place  and  work, 
far  above  my  old  life  at  home.  Why  just  think" — 
with  a  quiet  smile — "John  said  last  night  that  he 
couldn't  tell  my  biscuits  from  yours.  And  wasn't 
the  dinner  all  right  to-day  ?  And  isn't  that  a  beauti- 
ful patch  ?"  She  held  up  her  work  for  inspection. 

The  other  shook  her  head,  while  she  smiled  in 
answer.  "I  know,  dear  girl,  you  do  beautifully; 
but  that's  not  it.  There  is  your  father  and  mother 
and  brother;  you  know  you  can't  stay  away  from 
them  always." 

Amy's  face  grew  troubled,  while  her  hand  ner- 
vously sought  the  letter  hidden  in  her  bosom.  "You 
do  not  understand,  mother,"  she  replied  slowly ;  "My 
people  do  not  want  me  to  come  home.  My  father 
said  I  should  not,  until — until — "  she  hesitated. 

"But  your  father  has  surely  forgotten  his  anger 
by  this  time,  and  when  he  sees  you  he  will  be  glad 
to  forgive  and  take  you  back." 

The  brown  eyes  looked  at  her  in  startled  surprise. 
"When  he  sees  me  ?"  But  the  other  continued  huiv 
riedly,  "And  there  are  the  letters  you  know." 


393 


THAT  PKItfTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Amy's  face  grew  rosy.  "Why  the  letters?"  she 
murmured  in  a  low  voice. 

"Because  he  loves  you,  dear,  don't  you  see  ?" 

"He  has  never  told  me  so." 

"Not  in  words  perhaps." 

Amy  was  silent. 

"He  will  come  for  you  one  of  these  days  and  then 
you  will  go  with  him." 

The  girl  sadly  shook  her  head,  and  turning  her 
face,  looked  away  across  the  fields  again,  where  silent, 
patient  John  sturdily  followed  his  team. 

The  shadow  of  the  big  sycamore  was  stretching 
across  the  barn  lot  almost  to  the  gate,  where  the  cows 
stood  watching  for  the  boy  to  come  and  let  them  in ; 
a  troop  of  droning  bees  were  paying  their  last  visit 
for  the  day  to  the  peach-tree,  that  flung  its  wealth 
of  passionate  blossoms  almost  within  reach  of  the 
porch,  and  over  the  blue  distant  woods  the  last  of  the 
feathery  banks  of  mist  hung  lazily,  as  though  tangled 
in  the  budding  branches,  reluctant  to  say  good-night. 

Suddenly  leaving  her  chair,  Amy  threw  herself 
on  the  floor  and  burying  her  face  in  the  older  wo- 
man's lap,  burst  into  tears.  Anna's  own  eyes  were 
wet  as  she  softly  smoothed  the  brown  hair  of  the  girl 
she  had  taken  to  her  mother's  heart.  "You  do  love 
him,  don't  you  dear  ?" 

And  Amy  answered,  between  her  sobs,  "Because 
I  love  him  so,  I  must  never  see  him  again.  He — • 

394 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

he — is  so  strong  and  good  and  true — he  must  not 
care  for  one  who  would  only  bring  reproach  upon  his 
name." 

"I  know,  dear  girl,  and  that  is  why  you  must  go 
home;  take  your  own  place  in  the  world  again  and 
then  the  way  is  clear." 

Amy  lifted  her  head.  "Oh,  if  I  only  could — but 
you  do  not  know — my  going  home  would  only  widen 
the  distance  between  us.  My  father — "  She  paused 
again,  her  quivering  lips  could  not  form  the  words. 

"Amy,  I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken ;  you  must  be. 
When  you  meet  your  father  it  will  all  come  right,  I 
know." 

Again  there  seemed  to  be  a  hidden  meaning  in 
her  words.  "When  I  meet  my  father  ?"  Amy  repeated 
slowly. 

Anna  grew  confused.  "Yes — I — we — you  know 
John  has  been  trying  to  sell  for  a  long  time ;  we  want 
to  go  back  to  Cleveland;  and  to-day  he  learned  that 
a  buyer  was  coming  from  Boyd  City  to  — 

Amy's  face  grew  white  as  she  rose,  trembling,  to 
her  feet.  "My  father,"  she  gasped — "coming  here  ?** 

Anna  took  the  frightened  girl  in  her  arms — 
"There,  there,  dear,  don't  be  afraid.  All  will  be  for 
the  best,  I  am  sure.  John  and  I  will  stand  by  you 
and  you  shall  go  with  us  if  you  wish.  But  I  am  sure 
your  father  will  be  glad  to  take  you  home  with  him ; 
and  you  ought  to  go ;  you  know  you  ought ;  not  for 

395 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

your  family's  sake  alone,  but  for  his,  you  know." 
And  so  they  talked  as  the  shadows  grew,  until  in 
the  twilight  John  came  from  the  field  with  his  tired 
team,  when  they  went  into  the  house  to  prepare  the 
{evening  meal.  - 

Adam  Goodrich  had  by  no  means  forgiven  his 
beautiful  daughter  for  the  blow  dealt  his  pride, 
though  one  would  not  easily  detect  from  his  manner 
that  there  wal  anything  but  supreme  self-satisfaction 
in  the  life  of  this  worthy  member  of  the  Jerusalem 
Church.  Mrs.  Goodrich's  health  was  broken,  but 
she  still  remained  the  same  society-loving,  fashion- 
worshipping  woman,  who  by  her  influence  and  teach- 
ing had  ruined  her  child.  It  never  occurred  to  the 
mother  that  Amy's  conduct  was  the  legitimate  out- 
come of  her  training  or  associates,  but  she  looked  at 
it  always  as  a  weakness  in  the  girl ;  and  Frank,  true 
son  of  his  father,  never  mentioned  his  sister  but  with 
a  curl  of  his  lip,  and  lived  his  life  as  though  she 
had  never  existed.  The  family  still  attended  church 
once  each  week,  still  contributed  the  same  amount 
to  the  cause,  and  still  found  fault  with  Cameron  for 
his  low  tastes  and  new-fangled  methods;  while  they 
laughed  at  the  new  Association  as  a  dream  of  fools 
and  misguided  enthusiasts. 

Adam  had  long  wanted  to  add  a  good  farm  to  his 
possessions,  and  after  some  correspondence  with  the 

396 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

agent  who  had  advertised  the  Barton  property,  he 
boarded  the  train  one  bright  day,  to  pay  a  visit  of 
inspection  to  his  contemplated  purchase.  Reaching 
the  little  city  of  Zanesville  in  the  evening,  he  spent 
the  night  at  a  hotel.  In  the  morning  he  called  upon 
the  agent,  and  the  two  were  soon  whirling  along  the 
road  behind  a  pair  of  wiry  little  ponies. 

The  drive  of  eight  or  ten  miles  passed  very  pleas- 
antly between  the  real  estate  man  and  his  prospective 
customer  in  such  conversation  as  gentlemen  whose 
lives  are  spent  in  the  whirl  of  the  money  world  in- 
dulge in  between  moments  of  activity. 

At  last  they  neared  the  farm,  and  bringing  the 
ponies  to  a  walk,  the  agent  began  pointing  out  the 
most  desirable  features  of  the  property :  the  big  barn, 
the  fine  timber  land  in  the  distance,  the  rich  soil  of 
a  field  near  by,  the  magnificent  crop  of  corn,  the 
stream  of  water  where  cattle  stood  knee-deep  lazily 
fighting  the  flies,  and  the  fine  young  orchard  just 
across  the  road  from  the  house. 

"Yes,  the  building  is  old" — as  they  drove  up  in 
front  of  the  big  gate;  "but  it  is  good  yet,  and  with 
jnst  a  little  expense,  can  be  converted  into  a  model  of 
modern  convenience  and  beauty." 

As  they  drove  into  the  yard  and  got  out  to  hitch 
the  ponies,  Mrs.  Barton  came  to  the  door. 

"Just  come  right  in,  Mr.  Richards,  John  is  over 
in  the  north  field ;  I'll  go  for  him." 

397 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"Oh  No,  Mrs.  Barton,  I'll  go.  This  is  Mr.  Good- 
rich, who  wishes  to  look  at  the  farm.  Mr.  Goodrich, 
just  wait  here  in  the  shade  and  I'll  go  after  Mr. 
Barton." 

"I  believe,"  said  Adam,  "if  you  don't  mind,  I'll 
walk  through  the  orchard  until  you  return." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  both  the  agent  and 
the  farmer's  wife ;  and  the  woman  added,  nervously, 
"just  make  yourself  at  home,  Mr.  Goodrich;  you'll 
find  the  girl  out  there  somewhere.  Dinner  will  be 
ready  in  about  an  hour." 

Leisurely  crossing  the  road,  Adam  paused  at  the 
orchard  gate,  to  watch  some  fine  young  shoats  that 
were  running  about  with  their  mother  nearby.  From 
the  pigs,  his  gaze  wandered  about  the  farm  buildings, 
the  fields,  and  the  garden.  Turning  at  last  to 
enter  the  orchard,  he  saw  a  young  woman,  clad  in  the 
homely  every-day  dress  of  a  country  girl;  her  face 
hidden  beneath  a  large  sun-bonnet  of  blue  gingham. 
She  was  gathering  apple  blossoms.  Something  in  her 
manner  or  figure  struck  him  as  being  familiar,  and 
with  his  hand  on  the  gate,  he  paused  again.  As  he 
stood  watching  her  all  unconscious  of  his  presence, 
she  sprang  lightly  from  the  ground  in  an  effort  to 
reach  a  tempting  spray  of  blossoms,  and  at  her  vio- 
lent movement  the  sun-bonnet  dropped  from  her  head, 
while  a  wealth  of  brown  hair  fell  in  a  rippling  mass 
to  her  waist.  Then  as  she  half  turned,  he  saw  her 

398 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

face  distinctly,  and  with  a  start  of    surprise    and 
astonishment,  knew  her  as  his  daughter. 

Under  the  first  impulse  of  a  father's  love  at  seeing 
his  child  again,  Adam  stepped  forward;  but  with 
the  gate  hall  open,  he  checked  himself  and  then  drew 
back,  while  the  old  haughty  pride,  that  dominant  key 
in  his  character,  hardened  his  heart  again ;  and  when 
he  at  last  pushed  open  the  gate  once  more,  his  love 
was  fairly  hidden. 

When  Amy  first  caught  sight  of  her  father  advanc- 
ing slowly  toward  her  beneath  the  blossom-laden 
trees  she  forgot  everything  and  started  quickly  to- 
ward him,  her  face  lighted  with  eager  welcome,  ready 
to  throw  herself  in  his  arms  and  there  pour  out  her 
whole  tearful  story  and  beg  his  love  and  forgiveness. 
But  when  she  saw  his  face,  she  dared  not,  and  stood 
with  downcast  eyes,  trembling  and  afraid. 

"So  this  is  where  you  hide  yourself,  while  your 
family  faces  your  shame  at  home,"  began  Adam, 
coldly.  "Tell  me  who  brought  you  here  and  who 
pays  these  people  to  keep  you." 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  proudly.  "No  one  pays 
them  sir ;  I  am  supporting  myself." 

The  man  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "Do  you 
mean  that  your  position  here  is  that  of  a  common 
servant  P 

"Thei^  aire  worse  positions,"  she  replied  sadly. 
"The  people  here  are  very  kind  to  me." 

399 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"But  think  of  your  family ;  you  are  a  disgrace  te 
us  all.  What  can  I  tell  them  when  I  go  back  and 
say  that  I  have  seen  you  ?" 

"Tell  them  that  I  am  well,  and  as  happy  as  I  ever 
expect  to  be."  She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  bosom 
where  a  letter  was  hidden. 

"But  what  will  people  say  when  they  know  that 
my  daughter  is  working  on  a  farm  for  a  living  ?" 

"They  need  never  know  unless  you  tell  them." 

Then  the  man  lost  all  control  of  himself;  that 
this  girl  who  had  always  yielded  to  his  every  wish, 
without  so  much  as  daring  to  have  a  thought  of  her 
own,  should  so  calmly,  but  firmly,  face  him  in  this 
manner,  enraged  him  beyond  measure.  He  could  not 
understand.  He  knew  nothing  of  her  life  since  that 
night  he  had  refused  to  listen  to  her  explanation,  and 
in  his  anger  taunted  her  with  being  the  plaything  of 
Dick  Falkner,  and  then,  because  her  face  flushed, 
thought  that  he  had  hit  on  the  truth  and  grew  almost 
abusive  in  his  language. 

But  Amy  only  answered,  "Sir,  you  are  mistaken 
now,  as  you  were  when  you  drove  me  from  home ;  Mr. 
Falkner  had  nothing  to  do  with  my  leaving  Boycf 
City." 

"You  are  my  daughter  still,"  stormed  Adam,  "and 
I  will  force  you  to  leave  this  low  position  and  come 
home  to  us.  You  cannot  deceive  me  with  your  clever 
lie  about  supporting  yourself.  What  do  you  know 

400 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

about  a  servant's  work?  That  cursed  tramp  printer 
is  at  the  bottom  of  all  this,  and  I'll  make  him  suffer 
for  it  as  I  live.  I  will  force  you  to  come  home. 

Amy's  face  grew  pale,  but  she  replied  quietly, 
' '  Oh,  no,  father,  you  will  not  do  that,  because  that 
would  make  public  my  position  you  know.  I  have  no 
fear  of  your  proclaiming  from  the  housetops  that 
your  daughter  is  a  hired  girl  on  a  farm. ' ' 

"But  father,"  she  said,  in  softer  voice,  as  Adam 
stood  speechless  with  rage;  "  Father,  forgive  me  for 
this,  for  I  know  that  I  am  right.  Let  me  stay  here 
and  prove  that  I  am  not  useless  to  the  world,  and 
then  perhaps  I  will  go  to  you.  In  the  meantime, 
keep  my  secret  and  no  one  shall  know  that  your  claim 
on  society  has  been  lessened  because  your  daughter  is 
learning  to  do  a  woman's  work." 

Just  a  shade  of  bitter  sarcasm  crept  into  her  voice, 
but  Adam  did  not  notice,  for  he  saw  the  agent  and 
the  farmer  coming.  "  Very  well,"  he  said  hurriedly, 
1 '  you  have  chosen  your  path  and  must  walk  in  it. 
But  you  cannot  expect  me  to  acknowledge  a  servant 
as  my  daughter. ' '  And  turning  his  back,  he  went 
to  meet  the  men,  while  Amy  slipped  off  to  the  house 
with  her  blossoms. 

Mrs.  Barton  needed  no  word  to  tell  her  of  the  result 
of  the  interview  from  which  she  had  expected  so 
much,  and  with  a  kiss  and  a  loving  word,  permitted 

401 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

the  girl  to  go  upstairs,  where  she  remained  until 
Mr.  Goodrich  had  left  the  place. 

After  completing  the  purchase  of  the  farm,  Adam 
\vrote  his  daughter  from  the  office  of  the  agent  in 
Zanesville  :  "  The  place  where  you  are  living  now  be- 
longs to  me,  and  the  Bartons  must  give  possession 
at  once.  If  you  will  promise  never  to  speak  to  that 
man  Falkner  again,  you  may  come  home  and  be  re- 
ceived into  your  old  place,  but  on  no  other  terms  will 
I  acknowledge  you  as  my  daughter.  Refuse  and  you 
are  thrown  on  the  charity  of  the  world,  for  you  cannot 
remain  where  you  are." 

Amy  carried  the  letter  to  her  friends,  together  with 
her  reply,  and  they,  by  every  argument  of  love,  tried 
to  induce  her  to  go  with  them  back  to  Cleveland ;  but 
she  refused  in  tears.  And  when  she  would  not  be 
persuaded,  they  were  compelled  to  leave  her.  With 
many  expressions  of  love,  they  said  good-bye,  and 
departed  for  their  old  home  in  the  eastern  city ;  but 
before  going,  they  arranged  with  a  kind  neighbor  to 
give  her  a  place  in  their  already  crowded  home  until 
she  could  find  means  of  support. 

Upon  Dick's  return  from  his  Cleveland  trip,  he 
had  thrown  himself  into  his  work  with  feverish  en- 
ergy, while  in  his  heart  the  struggle  between  love  and 
prejudice  continued.  But  as  the  weeks  went  by  and 
Amy's  letter  had  come,  telling  of  her  life  on  the 
farm,  and  how  she  was  learning  to  be  of  use  in  the 

402 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

world ;  and  as  be  had  read  between  the  lines,  of  her 
new  ideas  and  changed  views  of  life,  his  love  had 
grown  stronger  and  had  almost  won  the  fight.  Then 
a  letter  eame,  bidding  him  good-bye,  and  telling  him 
that  she  was  going  away  again,  and  that  for  her  sake, 
he  must  not  try  to  find  her ;  that  she  was  deeply  grate-' 
ful  for  all  that  he  had  done,  but  it  was  best  that  he 
forget  that  he  had  ever  known  her. 

Dick  was  hurt  and  dismayed.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  she  had  given  up,  and  the  devil,  Doubt,  eve? 
ready  to  plaoe  a  wrong  construction  upon  the  words 
and  deeds  of  mortals,  sent  him  into  the  black  depths 
of  despair  again. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  man,"  declared  George  Udell 
to  Clara  Wilson,  one  evening,  as  they  caught  a 
glimpse  of  him  bending  over  a  desk  in  Mr.  Wicks' 
office,  "he  works  like  a  fiend." 

"Like  an  angel,  you'd  better  say,"  replied  Clara. 
"Didn't  I  tell  you  that  he  was  no  common  tramp  ?" 

"Yes,  dear,  of  course ;  and  you  never  made  a  mis- 
take in  your  life ;  that  is,  never  but  once." 

"When  was  that  ?"  asked  Clara  curiously. 

"When  you  said  'No'  to  me  night  before  last. 
Won't  yon  reconsider  it,  and  — " 

"Where  do  you  suppose  Amy  Goodrich  is  now?" 
interrupted  the  young  lady.  "Do  you  know,  I  have 
fancied  at  times,  that  Mr.  Falkner  learned  something 
on  his  trip  last  fall,  that  he  has  not  told  us  ?" 

403 


THAT  PKIOTER  OF  UDELL'S 

George  opened  his  eyes.  "What  makes  you  think 
that  2" 

"Oh,  because ;  somehow  he  seems  so  different  since 
he  returned." 

But  George  shook  his  head.  "I  thought  so  too 
for  a  while,"  he  replied;  "but  I  talked  with  him  just 
the  other  day,  and  I'm  afraid  he's  given  up  all  hope. 
He  works  to  hide  the  hurt.  But  I'll  tell  you  one 
thing,  girlie,  if  anything  could  make  a  Christian  of 
me,  it  would  be  Dick's  life.  There's  something  more 
than  human  in  the  way  he  stands  'up  against  this 
thing." 

Then  Dick  received  another  letter,  from  a  post 
office  in  Texas. 

"Dere  Dikkie:  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  let  u 
no  that  Ime  wel  an  hoape  u  ar  the  aame.  Jim 
Whitly  is  ded  he  don  tried  to  nife  me  an  i  fixed 
him.  he  wanted  to  hire  me  to  kil  u  fer  some  papers 
an  we  was  in  you  ol  caben  kross  the  river  from  the 
still.  He  said  ter  tel  u  thet  he  lied  to  u  an  that 
Amy  is  pure.  I  don't  no  what  he  means  but  thot  u 
ort  ter  no.  I  skipped — burn  this,  your  daddys  pardr 

"JAKE  THOMPSON." 

The  Association  building  was  finished  at  last,  and 
the  pastor  of  the  Jerusalem  Church  sat  in  his  little 
den  looking  over  the  morning  mail.  There  were  the 
usual  number  of  magazines,  papers,  and  sample 
copies  of  religious  periodicals,  with  catalogues  and 

404 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

circulars  from  publishing  houses ;  an  appeal  to  help 
a  poor  church  in  Nebraska  whose  place  of  worship 
had  been  struck  by  lightning;  a  letter  from  a  sister 
in  Missouri,  asking  for  advice  about  a  divorce  case ; 
one  from  a  tinware  man  in  Arkansas,  who  inquired 
about  the  town  with  a  view  of  locating ;  and  one  that 
bore  the  mark  of  the  Association,  which  informed 
him,  over  the  signature  of  the  Secretary,  that  he  had 
been  unanimously  called  to  take  charge  of  the  new 
work.  Cameron  carried  the  letter,  in  triumph,  to 
the  kitchen. 

"Well,"  said  the  little  woman;  "didn't  I  tell  you 
that  one  preacher  would  have  a  hand  in  whatever 
work  was  started  here  ?  Of  course  you'll  accept  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Cameron  answered.  "We  must 
think  about  it." 

A  day  later  he  called  for  a  consultation  with  Elder 
Wicks,  and  Uncle  Bobbie  said: 

"To-be-sure,  it's  mighty  hard  for  me  to  advise  you 
in  a  thing  like  this ;  for  as  a  member  of  the  church, 
I'm  bound  to  say  stay ;  and  as  a  member  of  the  Asso- 
ciation, I  say,  accept.  I  jing!  I  don't  know  what  to 
do."  And  for  a  few  moments,  the  old  gentleman 
thoughtfully  stroked  his  face;  then  suddenly  grasp- 
ing the  arms  of  the  chair  fiercely,  he  shouted :  "As  a 
Christian,  I  say,  accept,  an'  I  reckon  that  settles  it." 

And  so  Cameron  became  the  manager  of  the  new 
work;  and  his  first  recommendation  to  the  directors 

405 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

was  that  they  send  their  Secretary  away  for  a  vaca- 
tion. And  indeed  Dick,  poor  fellow,  needed  it, 
though  at  first  he  flatly  refused  to  go.  But  Dr.  Jor- 
dan came  down  on  him  with  the  cheerful  information 
that  he  would  die  if  he  didn't,  and  Uncle  Bobbie 
finished  matters  by  declaring  that  he  had  no  more 
right  to  kill  himself  by  over  work,  than  he  had  to  take 
Rough  on  Rats,  or  blow  his  head  off  with  a  gun; 
"and  besides,"  added  the  old  gentleman,  "you  aint 
paid  me  that  hundred  dollars  yet.  To-be-sure,  the 
note  aint  due  for  sometime;  but  a  fellow  has  got  to 
look  after  his  own  interest,  aint  he  ?" 

The  first  address  delivered  by  Cameron  in  the  au- 
ditorium of  the  Association  building,  was  from  the 
text,  "Ye  shall  know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall 
make  you  free."  The  audience  room  was  crowded, 
and  the  young  minister  had  never  appeared  to  better 
advantage,  or  declared  the  teaching  of  his  Master 
with  greater  freedom,  earnestness  and  vigor;  and  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  people,  who  should  come  for- 
ward at  the  close  of  the  service,  to  declare  his  belief 
in,  and  acceptance  of  Christ  as  the  Son  of  God,  but 
the  so-called  infidel  printer,  George  Udell. 


406 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


Southwestern  Missouri,  in  the  White  Oak 
district,  there  are  many  beautiful  glens  and 
sheltered  valleys,  where  a  sturdy  people 
have  tamed  the  wildness  of  nature  and  made  it  obedi- 
ent to  their  will.  The  fields  lie  fertile  and  fruitful 
on  either  bank  of  murmuring  streams,  clear  to  the 
foot  of  the  hills  where  the  timber  grows.  Always  a 
road  winds  down  the  valley,  generally  skirting  the 
forest,  and  the  farmhouses  are  nearly  all  built  of 
logs,  though  more  modern  and  finished  dwellings  are 
fast  taking  the  place  of  the  primitive  mansions.  Ev- 
ery few  miles,  one  may  see  little  school-houses,  most 
often  made  of  good  lumber  and  painted  white,  with 
heavy  shutters  and  a  high  platform  in  front.  For 
the  Ozark  settler  takes  great  pride  in  his  school-house, 
which  is  also  a  church  and  a  political  rallying  point, 
and  meeting-place  for  the  backwoods  "Literary ;"  and 
though  he  may  live  in  a  rude  log  hovel  himself,  hia 
hall  of  education  must  be  made  of  boards  and  care- 
fully painted. 

To  this  romantic  region  Dick  Falkner  went  to 
409 


THAT  PKISTTER  OF  UDELL'S 

spend  his  vacation,  during  the  latter  part  of  October, 
the  loveliest  season  of  the  year  in  that  section  of  the 
country.  Mr.  Cushman,  who  was  a  successful  farmer 
living  in  the  White  Oak  district,  and  an  old  friend 
of  Uncle  Bobbie's,  gladly  welcomed  the  young  man, 
of  whom  his  old  partner,  Wicks,  had  written  so 
highly.  When  Dick  left  the  train  at  Armourdale,  a 
little  village  in  the  lead  and  zinc  field,  he  was  greeted 
at  once  by  his  host,  a  bluff,  pleasant-faced,  elderly 
gentleman,  whom  he  liked  at  first  sight,  and  who 
was  completely  captivated  by  his  guest  before  they 
had  been  together  half  an  hour. 

Oak  Springs  Farm,  which  was  to  be  Dick's  home 
for  the  next  month,  took  in  the  whole  of  a  beautiful 
little  glen,  and  many  acres  of  timber-land  on  either 
side.  Crane  Creek  had  its  source,  or  rather  one  of 
its  sources,  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  house,  where 
a  big  spring  bubbled  from  beneath  the  roots  of  a  giant 
oak,  and  the  water  went  chattering  and  laughing 
away  to  the  south  and  east. 

Three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  Oak  Springs,  just 
over  the  ridge  in  another  hollow,  another  stream 
gushed  bright  and  clear,  from  beneath  another  an- 
cient oak  and  went  rushing  away  to  join  its  fellow 
brook  a  mile  distant,  where  the  little  glens  broadened 
into  a  large  valley,  through  which  the  creek  hurried 
onward  to  the  great  river,  miles  away  in  the  heart 
of  the  wilderness. 

410 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

It  was  all  very  beautiful  and  restful  to  the  young 
man,  wearied  and  worn  by  the  rush  and  whirl 
of  the  city,  and  stifled  with  the  dust  and  smoke  from 
factory  and  furnace.  The  low  hills,  clothed  with 
foliage,  richly  stained  by  October's  brush;  the  little 
valley  lying  warm  in  the  sunlight,  was  a  welcome 
change  to  the  dead  monotony  of  the  prairie,  where  the 
sky  shut  down  close  to  the  dull  brown  earth,  with  no 
support  of  leafy  pillars.  And  the  mother  quail,  with 
her  full-grown  family  scurrying  to  cover  in  the  corner 
of  the  fence ;  the  squirrel  scolding  to  his  mate  in  the 
tree-tops,  or  leaping  over  the  rustling  leaves,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  forest  life,  was  full  of  interest  when 
compared  to  the  life  of  busy  men  or  chattering  spar- 
rows in  the  bustling  mining  town. 

Though  Mr.  Cushman  and  his  wife  had  raised  a 
large  family  of  boys  and  girls,  only  one,  a  daughter, 
remained  with  them  on  the  farm.  The  others  had, 
one  by  one,  taken  their  flight  from  the  home  nest,  to 
build  home  nests  of  their  own  in  different  parts  of  the 
great  world  wilderness. 

Kate  was  a  hearty,  robust,  rosy-cheeked  country 
lass  of  eighteen,  the  youngest  of  the  flock ;  her  f  ather's 
chum,  with  all  his  frank,  open  ways ;  and  her  mother's 
companion,  with  all  her  loving  thoughtfulness.  And, 
best  of  all,  she  possessed  the  charming  freshness,  in- 
nocence and  purity  of  one  who  had  never  come  in 
touch  with  those  who,  taught  by  the  world  she  had 

411 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

never  known,  were  content  to  sham  her  virtues  as 
they  tried  to  imitate  the  color  of  her  cheek. 

Dick  sank  to  rest  that  night  with  a  long  sigh  of 
relief,  after  meeting  the  mother  and  daughter  and 
enjoying  such  a  supper  as  one  only  finds  on  a  pros- 
perous farm.  And  strangely  enough,  the  last  picture 
on  his  mind  before  he  fell  asleep,  was  of  a  little  school- 
house  which  he  had  seen  just  at  sunset,  scarcely  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  up  the  valley;  and  he  drowsily 
wondered  who  taught  the  children  there;  while  a 
great  owl,  perched  in  an  old  apple-tree  back  of  the 
chicken  house,  echoed  his  sleepy  thoughts  with  its 
"Whool  Whoo!" 

With  a  whoop  and  hallo  and  whistle,  the  noisy 
troop  of  boys  and  girls  came  tumbling  out  of  the 
doorway  of  the  White  Oak  School,  their  dinner 
pails  and  baskets  on  their  arms,  homeward  bound 
from  the  irksome  duties  of  the  day.  The  young 
teacher,  after  standing  a  few  moments  in  the  door- 
way, watching  her  charges  down  the  road  and  out  of 
sight  in  the  timber  across  the  valley,  turned  wearily 
back,  and  seating  herself  at  a  rude  desk  in  the  rear  of 
the  room,  began  her  task  of  looking  over  the  copy- 
books left  by  the  rollicking  youngsters.  Had  she  re- 
mained a  moment  longer  in  the  door-way  she  would 
have  seen  a  tall,  well-dressed  gentleman  coming  leis- 
urely up  the  hill.  It  was  Dick.  He  had  been  roam- 


412 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

ing  all  the  afternoon  over  the  fields  and  through  the 
brown  woods. 

He  came  slowly  up  the  road,  and  crossing  the  yard, 
stood  hesitating  at  the  threshold  of  the  building. 
The  teacher,  bending  low,  did  not  see  him  for  a 
moment;  but  when  she  raised  her  head,  she  looked 
straight  into  his  eyes. 

Dick  would  have  been  dull  indeed  had  he  failed 
to  interpret  that  look;  and  Amy  would  have  been 
more  than  dull  had  she  failed  to  see  the  love  that 
shone  in  his  glance  of  astonishment  and  pleasure. 

For  an  instant,  neither  spoke ;  then,  "I  have  found 
you  again,"  said  Dick,  simply.  "I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me,  Miss  Goodrich ;  I  assure  you  the  meeting 
is  entirely  by  accident.  I  stopped  for  a  drink  of 
water." 

"Please  help  yourself,  Mr.  Falkner,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  little  choke  in  her  voice.  "There  it  is."  And 
she  pointed  to  a  wooden  pail  and  tin  dipper  near 
the  door. 

"I  am  spending  rny  vacation  in  the  Ozarks;  or 
rather,  I  came  here  to  rest."  He  paused  awkwardly. 
"I — I  did  not  dream  of  your  being  here,  or  of  course 
I  should  not  have  come,  after  your  letter.  Forgive 
me  and  I  will  go  away  again." 

He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  with  his  foot  on 
the  threshold,  paused,  and  then  walked  back  to  the 


413 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

desk  where  the  girl  sat,  leaning  forward  with  her  face 
buried  in  her  arms. 

"There's  just  one  thing  though,  that  I  must  say 
before  I  go.  Are  you  in  need  of  any  help  ?  If  so,  let 
me  be  of  use  to  you ;  I  am  still  your  friend." 

The  brown  head  was  raised  and  two  glistening  eyes 
proudly  pleading  looked  at  Dick. 

Through  a  mist  in  his  own  eyes  he  saw  two  hands 
outstretched  and  heard  a  voice  say,  "I  do  need  your 
help.  Don't  go.  That  is — I  mean — leave  me  here 
now  and  to-morrow  call,  and  I  will  tell  you  all.  Only 
trust  me  this  once." 

Dick  took  the  outstretched  hands  in  his  and  stood 
for  a  moment  with  bowed  head;  then  whispered 
softly,  "Of  course  I  will  stay.  Shall  I  come  at  this 
hour  to-morrow  ?"  Amy  nodded,  and  he  passed  out 
of  the  building. 

Had  Dick  looked  back  as  he  strode  swiftly  toward 
the  timber,  he  would  have  seen  a  girlish  form  in  the 
door  holding  out  her  hands ;  and  had  he  listened  as  he 
climbed  the  fence,  he  might  have  heard  a  sweet  voice 
falter,  "Oh  Dick,  I  love  you.  I  love  you."  And  just 
as  he  vanished  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  the  girl  who 
was  more  than  all  the  world  to  him,  fell  for  the  second 
time  in  her  life,  fainting  on  the  floor. 

All  the  forenoon  of  the  next  day,  Dick  wandered 
aimlessly  about  the  farm,  but  somehow  he  never  got 
beyond  sight  of  the  little  white  school-house.  He 

414 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

spent  an  hour  watching  the  colts  that  frolicked  in  the 
upper  pasture,  beyond  which  lay  the  children's  play- 
ground ;  then  going  through  the  field,  he  climbed  the 
little  hill  beyond  and  saw  the  white  building  through 
the  screen  of  leaves  and  branches.  Once  Amy  came 
to  the  door,  but  only  for  a  moment,  when  she  called 
the  shouting  youngsters  from  their  short  recess.  Then 
recrossing  the  valley  half  a  mile  above,  he  walked 
slowly  home  to  dinner  along  the  road  leading  past 
the  building.  How  he  envied  the  boys  and  girls 
whose  droning  voices  reached  his  ears  through  the 
open  windows. 

While  Dick  waa  chatting  with  his  kind  host  after 
dinner,  as  they  sat  on  the  porch  facing  the  great 
oak,  the  latter  talked  about  the  spring  and  the  history 
of  the  place;  how  it  used  to  be  a  favorite  camping 
ground  for  the  Indians  in  winter ;  and  pointed  out  the 
field  below  the  barn,  where  they  had  found  arrow- 
heads by  the  hundreds.  Then  he  told  of  the  other 
spring  just  over  the  ridge,  and  how  the  two  streams 
came  together  and  flowed  on,  larger  and  larger,  to  the 
river.  And  then  with  a  farmer's  fondness  for  a  harm- 
less jest,  he  suggested  that  Dick  might  find  it  worth 
his  while  to  visit  the  other  spring;  "for,"  said  he 
"the  school-marm  lives  there ;  and  she's  a  right  pretty 
girl.  Sensible  too,  I  reckon,  though  she  aint  been 
here  only  since  the  first  of  September." 

When  the  farmer  had  gone  to  his  work,  Dick 
415 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

walked  down  to  the  spring-house,  and  sitting  on  the 
twisted  roots  of  the  old  oak,  looked  into  the  crystal 
water. 

"And  so  Amy  lives  by  a  spring  just  like  this,"  he 
thought,  "and  often  sits  beneath  that  other  oak,  per- 
haps, looking  into  the  water  as  I  am  looking  now." 

A  blue- jay,  perched  on  a  bough  above,  screamed 
in  mocking  laughter  at  the  dreamer  beneath ;  an  old 
drake,  leading  his  family  in  a  waddling  row  to  the 
open  stream  below  the  little  house,  solemnly  quacked 
his  protest  against  such  a  willful  waste  of  time ;  and 
a  spotted  calf  thrust  its  head  through  the  barn-yard 
fence  to  gaze  at  him  in  mild  reproach. 

In  his  revery,  Dick  compared  the  little  stream  of 
water  to  his  life,  running  fretted  and  troubled,  from 
the  very  edge  of  its  birthplace;  and  he  followed  it 
with  his  eye  down  through  the  pasture  lot,  until  it 
was  lost  in  the  distance;  then  looking  into  the  blue 
vista  of  the  hills,  he  followed  on,  in  his  mind,  where 
the  stream  grew  deeper  and  broader.  Suddenly,  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked  hastily  away  along  the 
bank  of  the  creek.  In  a  little  while,  he  stood  at  the 
point  of  land  where  the  two  valleys  became  one,  and 
the  two  streams  were  united,  and  with  a  long  breath 
of  relief,  found  that  the  course  of  the  larger  stream, 
as  far  as  he  could  see,  was  smooth  and  untroubled, 
while  the  valley  through  which  it  flowed  was  broad 
and  beautiful. 

416 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

At  the  appointed  time,  Dick  went  to  the  school 
house,  and  with  Amy,  walked  through  the  woods  to- 
ward the  farm  where  she  lived,  while  she  told  him  of 
her  life  since  last  they  met;  of  her  father's  visit 
and  his  threats,  and  of  her  fear  that  he  would  force 
her  to  go  home.  The  farm  had  been  sold  the  day 
after  Adam  was  there,  and  how  through  her  friends, 
she  had  obtained  her  present  position  in  the  school. 
She  told  of  her  pride  and  desire  to  wipe  out  alone, 
the  disgrace,  as  alone  she  had  fallen.  She  longed 
to  be  of  use  in  the  world. 

As  she  talked,  Dick's  face  grew  bright.  "This  is 
good  news  indeed,"  he  said.  "I'm  so  glad  for  your 
sake."  Then,  with  a  smile,  "I  see  you  do  not  need 
my  help  now  that  you  can  be  of  so  much  help  to 
others." 

"But  won't  you  help  me  plan  for  the  future  ?"  said 
Amy,  trying  to  hide  the  slight  tremble  in  her  voice. 
"Won't  you  tell  me  what  is  best  to  do?  I  have 
thought  and  thought,  but  can  get  no  farther  than  I 
am  now." 

"Let  us  say  nothing  about  that  for  a  time,"  replied 
Dick.  "We  will  talk  that  over  later." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  farmer's  advice, 
spoken  in  jest,  was  received  in  earnest ;  and  for  four 
happy  weeks  the  two  lived,  unrestrained  by  false 
pride  or  foolish  prejudice;  walking  home  together 
through  the  woods,  or  wandering  beside  the  little 

417 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

brooks,  talking  of  the  beauties  they  saw  on  every 
hand,  or  silently  listening  to  the  voices  of  nature. 
But  at  last  the  time  came  when  they  must  part,  and 
Dick  gave  his  answer  to  her  question. 

"You  must  go  home,"  he  said. 

"But  you  know  what  that  means,"  answered  Amy. 
"I  will  be  forced  to  give  up  my  church  work  and  be  a 
useless  butterfly  again;  and  besides,  the  condition5! 
father  insists  upon — ."  She  blushed  and  hesitated. 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "I  know  what  it  means  for  me, 
your  going  home.  But  you  need  not  again  be  a  use- 
less butterfly  as  you  say.  Write  your  father  and  tell 
him  of  your  desire ;  that  you  cannot  be  content  as  a 
useless  woman  of  society.  He  will  ask  you  to  come 
home,  I  am  sure.  And  when  your  present  term  of 
school  is  finished,  you  can  take  your  old  place  in  the 
world  again.  You  will  find  many  ways  to  be  of  use 
to  others,  and  I  know  that  your  father  will  learn  to 
give  you  more  liberty." 

"And  the  past?"  asked  Amy,  with  a  blush  of 
shame. 

"Is  past,"  said  Dick,  emphatically.  "ISTo  one  in 
Boyd  City  knows  your  story,  nor  need  they  ever 
know." 

"One  man  there  can  tell  them,"  answered  the  girl, 
with  averted  face. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Dick,  quietly.  And 
then,  as  gently  as  he  could,  he  told  her  of  Whitley's 

418 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST. 

death.  But  of  his  connection  with  him  and  the  real 
cause  of  the  fight  in  the  cabin,  he  said  nothing. 

It  was  hard  for  Dick  to  advise  Amy  to  go  home, 
for  as  she  was  then,  they  were  equals.  If  she  went 
back  to  Boyd  City,  all  would  be  changed.  But  he 
had  fought  over  the  question  in  his  own  mind  and 
the  right  had  conquered. 

Amy  agreed  with  him  that  it  was  best,  and  added, 
"I  have  felt  all  along  that  I  ought  to  do  this  after  a 
while,  but  I  wished  to  see  you  again  first,  and  had 
you  not  happened  to  find  me,  I  should  have  written 
to  you  later." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  Ro  word  of  love  was  spoken 
between  them.  Dick  would  not  permit  himself  to 
speak  then,  because  he  felt  that  she  ought  not  to  be 
influenced  by  her  present  surroundings;  and  even 
had  he  spoken,  Amy  would  not  have  listened,  be- 
cause she  felt  her  work  could  only  be  complete  when 
she  had  returned  to  her  old  position  and  had  proved 
herself  by  her  life  there. 

And  so  they  parted,  with  only  a  silent  clasping  of 
hands,  as  they  stood  beside  the  brook  that  chattered  on 
its  way  to  join  the  other ;  though  there  was  a  world 
of  love  in  both  the  gray  eyes  and  the  brown;  a  love 
none  the  less  strong  because  unspoken. 

Upon  Dick's  return  to  the  city,  he  took  up  his  work 
again  with  so  light  a  heart  that  his  many  friends 
declared  that  he  had  entirely  recovered  his  health, 

419 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

and  their  congratulations  were  numerous  and  hearty. 

During  the  holidays,  there  was  some  gossip  among 
the  citizens  when  it  was  announced  in  the  Daily 
Whistler,  that  Miss  Goodrich  would  soon  return  to 
her  home.  The  article  stated  that  she  had  been  living 
v,Tith  some  friends  in  the  east,  finishing  her  education, 
and  the  public  accepted  the  polite  lie  with  a  nod  and 
a  wink. 

Mrs.  Goodrich,  though  her  mother  heart  was  glad 
at  the  return  of  her  child,  received  the  girl  with  many 
tearful  reproaches;  and  while  Amy  was  hungering 
for  a  parent's  loving  sympathy  and  encouragement, 
she  could  not  open  her  heart  to  the  woman  who 
mourned  only  the  blow  dealt  her  family  pride  and 
social  ambition. 

Adam  was  formal,  cold  and  uncompromising,  while 
Frank  paid  no  more  attention  to  his  sister  than  if 
she  were  a  hired  servant  in  the  house.  Only  the 
girl's  firm  determination,  awakened  womanhood, 
patience  and  Christian  fortitude  enabled  her  to  accept 
her  lot.  But  in  spite  of  the  daily  reproaches,  stern 
coldness  and  studied  contempt,  she  went  steadily  for- 
ward in  her  purpose  to  regain  the  place  she  had  lost ; 
and  somehow,  as  the  weeks  went  by,  all  noticed  a 
change  in  Amy.  Her  father  dared  not  check  her  in 
her  work,  for  something  in  the  clear  eyes,  that  looked 
at  him  so  sadly,  but  withal  so  fearlessly,  made  him 
hesitate.  It  was  as  though  she  had  spoken,  "I  have 

420 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

been  through  the  fire  and  have  come  out  pure  gold,- 
It  is  not  for  you  to  question  me."  And  though  she 
attended  to  her  social  duties,  her  influence  was  always 
for  the  good,  and  no  one  dared  to  speak  slightingly  of 
religious  things  in  her  presence ;  while  the  poor  people 
at  the  Mission  learned  to  love  the  beautiful  young 
woman  who  visited  their  homes  and  talked  to  them  of 
a  better  life,  and  never  failed  to  greet  them  with  a 
kindly  word  when  they  met  her  on  the  street. 

Of  course  Dick  could  not  call  at  her  home.  He 
knew  well  that  it  would  only  provoke  a  storm;  nor 
did  Amy  ask  him  to.  They  met  only  at  church  or  at 
the  Mission ;  and  nothing  but  the  common  greetings 
passed  between  them.  !N\>  one  ever  dreamed  that 
they  were  more  than  mere  acquaintances.  But  they 
each  felt  that  the  other  understood,  and  so  were 
happy;  content  to  wait  until  God,  in  his  own  way, 
should  unite  the  streams  of  their  lives. 


421 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


|T  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and 
Dick  was  in  his  office  at  the  Association 
building,  writing  some  letters  pertaining  to 
the  work,  when  the  door  opened,  and  to  his  great  as- 
tonishment, Amy  entered  hurriedly,  out  of  breath 
and  very  much  excited. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupting  you,  Mr.  Falk- 
ner,"  she  began,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak;  "but  I 
must  tell  you."  And  then  she  broke  down,  sinking 
into  a  chair  and  crying  bitterly. 

Dick's  face  was  very  grave,  and  stepping  to  the 
window  he  drew  the  curtain,  then  turned  the  key  in 
the  door. 

"RTow  what  is  it,  Miss  Goodrich  ?  Please  be  calm. 
You  know  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me." 

Amy  brushed  away  her  tears,  and  looking  up  into 
his  face,  "I'm  not  afraid  of  you,"  she  said.  "But — 
but — ,  our  secret  is  out." 

Dick  nodded  that  he  understood,  and  she  con- 
tinued :  "You  know  that  Frank  has  been  at  Armour- 
dale  the  last  few  weeks,  looking  after  papa's  interests 

425 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

in  the  mines  there,  and — and  he  came  home  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Dick  calmly. 

"I  was  in  the  sitting-room  and  he  and  father  were 
in  the  library.  I — I  did  not  mean  to  listen,  but  the 
door  was  open  and  I  heard  them  speak  your  name." 

"Yes,"  said  Dick  again. 

"Frank  met  Mr.  Cushman  and  spent  several  days 
at  the  farm  where  they  are  prospecting,  and — and  of 
course  learned  that  we  were  together  there.  Father 
believes  the  awf  ullest  things  and  threatens  to  kill  you ; 
he  is  so  angry.  I — I'm  afraid  for  you — and — and 
I  slipped  away  because  I — I  thought  you  ought  to 
know."  The  poor  girl  finished  with  a  sob  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

Dick  thought  rapidly  for  a  few  moments.  He  re- 
membered that  he  had  never  told  Amy  how  her  father 
had  accused  him  of  taking  her  away  at  first,  and  he 
saw  now  how  that  belief  would  be  strengthened  by 
her  brother's  story.  Then  as  his  heart  bitterly  re- 
belled at  the  thought  of  such  a  misunderstanding,  and 
of  the  danger  to  Amy,  his  mind  was  made  up  in- 
stantly. 

"Miss  Goodrich,"  he  said ;  "can  you  let  me  talk  to 
you  plainly?" 

She  nodded  and  grew  quiet. 

"I  have  known  all  along  that  these  things  would 
come  out  sooner  or  later.  I  have  foreseen  that  the 

426 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

whole  story  must  be  told,  and  have  prayed  that  the 
time  might  be  put  off  until  your  life  could  give  the 
lie  to  the  thought  that  the  past  was  not  passed  for- 
ever, and  now  I  thank  God  that  my  prayers  have 
been  answered.  iSTo  harm  can  come  to  you  now  for 
your  Christianity  is  no  vain  trifle,  but  a  living  power 
that  will  help  you  to  bear  the  reproach  that  must 
come.  Had  this  happened  before  you  were  strong,  it 
would  have  driven  you  back  again.  But  now  you  can 
bear  it.  But  Miss  Goodrich — Amy — I  don't  want 
you  to  bear  this  alone.  Won't  you  let  me  help  you  ? 
You  know  that  I  love  you.  I  have  told  you  so  a 
thousand  times,  though  no  word  has  been  spoken. 
And  I  know  that  you  return  my  love.  I  have  seen 
it  in  your  eyes,  and  I  have  waited  and  waited  until 
the  time  should  come  for  me  to  speak.  That  time  is 
here  now.  Amy,  dearest,  tell  me  that  you  love  me 
and  will  be  my  wife.  Give  me  the  right  to  protect 
you.  Let  us  go  to  your  father  together  and  tell  him 
all.  He  dare  not  refuse  us  then." 

The  beautiful  girl  trembled  with  emotion.  "You 
must  not.  Oh,  you  must  not,"  she  said.  "Don't,  don't 
tempt  me."  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  again. 
uYou — you  cannot  take  for  your  wife  one  who  has 
been  what  I  have." 

"Amy  dear,  listen,"  said  Dick.  "You  and  I  are 
Christians.  We  each  have  fallen;  but  Christ  has 
forgiven  and  accepted  both.  God  has  only  one  love 

427 


THAT  PKINTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

for  each,  one  Saviour  for  each,  one  forgiveness  for 
each.  There  is  only  one  promise,  one  help,  one 
Heaven  for  us  both.  Darling,  don't  you  see  that  we 
are  equal  ?  I  cannot  reproach  you  for  your  past,  be- 
cause I  too,  have  been  guilty.  You,  in  your  heart  of 
hearts,  must  recognize  this  great  truth.  Won't  you 
forget  it  all  with  me  ?" 

The  girl  lifted  her  face  and  looked  into  his  eyes 
long  and  searchingly,  as  though  reading  his  very  soul. 

Had  there  been  anything  but  love  in  Dick  Falk- 
ner's  heart  then,  he  would  have  argued  in  vain.  But 
he  returned  the  look  unflinchingly,  then — 

"Amy  listen.  On  the  soul  that  has  been  pardoned 
in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  there  is  no  spot.  Won't 
you  put  your  past  beneath  your  feet  as  I  put  mine 
in  the  dust,  and  come  to  me  upon  the  common  ground 
of  Christ's  love  and  forgiveness  ?  Come,  because  we 
love  each  other,  and  for  the  good  we  can  do." 

The  brown  eyes  filled  with  tears  again;  the  sweet 
lips  trembled,  as  holding  out  her  hand  she  replied, 
"Oh  Dick,  I  do  love  you.  Help  me  to  be  strong  and 
true  and  worthy  of  your  love.  I — I — have  no  one  in 
all  the  world  but  you." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Dick  said,  "I  must  take  you 
home  now." 

"No,  no,"  she  answered,  hurriedly ;  "the  folks  will 
think  that  I  am  calling  on  some  of  the  neighbors, 
even  if  they  miss  me  at  all.  I  often  run  out  of  an 

428 


A  STOKY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

evening  that  way.    It  is  not  late  and  I'm  not  afraid." 

"Listen  to  me,  dearest,"  he  answered.  "You  must 
not  see  your  father  alone  until  I  have  told  him  every- 
thing. I  will  go  up  to  the  house  with  you  now,  and 
we  will  settle  this  matter  once  for — "  A  loud  knock 
at  the  door  interrupted  him.  Amy  trembled  in  alarm. 
"Don't  be  frightened  dear.  !Nb  harm  can  come  to 
you  from  this  visit  now.  Thank  God  you  have  given 
me  the  right  to  speak  for  you." 

The  knock  was  repeated.  "Step  in  here,"  he  said, 
leading  her  to  a  chair  in  the  next  room,  "and  be  a 
brave  girl  now.  It's  just  some  fellow  on  business. 
He'll  be  gone  in  a  moment."  And  leaving  her  with 
the  door  partly  closed,  he  stepped  across  the  room 
just  as  the  knock  came  the  third  time. 

Dick  threw  open  the  door,  and  without  waiting 
for  an  invitation,  Adam  Goodrich  stepped  across  the 
threshold.  To  say  that  Dick  was  astonished  but  faint- 
ly expressed  his  feelings,  though  not  a  muscle  of  his 
face  quivered,  as  he  said : 

"Good  evening,  sir,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"You  can  do  a  good  deal,"  said  Adam.  "But  first 
lock  that  door ;  we  want  no  visitors  here  to-night." 

Without  a  word,  Dick  turned  the  key  again. 

"Now  sir,  I  want  to  know  first,  is  it  true  that  you 
were  with  my  daughter  in  the  Ozark  Mountains  this 
summer  ?  Don't  try  to  lie  to  me  this  time.  I'll  have 
the  truth  or  kill  you." 

429 


THAT  PKINTEK  OP  UDELL'S 

"I  have  never  lied  to  you,  sir,"  answered  Dick; 
"and  have  no  desire  to  do  so  now.  It  is  perfectly  true 
I  did  meet  you  daughter  last  summer  while  on  my 
vacation." 

"I  knew  I  was  right,"  raved  Adam.  "I  knew  you 
led  her  away  from  home.  Oh,  why  did  you  ever 
come  to  this  city  ?  Why  did  I  ever  see  you  ?  Here." 
And  he  frantically  tore  a  check-book  from  his  pocket. 
"Pill  this  out  for  any  amount  you  choose  and  go 
away  again.  Oh,  I  could  kill  you  if  I  dared.  You 
have  ruined  me  forever — you — " 

"Stop  sir,"  said  Dick;  and  when  Adam  looked 
into  his  face,  he  saw  again  that  nameless  something 
which  compelled  him  to  obey. 

"You  have  said  quite  enough,"  continued  Dick, 
calmly,  "and  you  are  going  to  listen  to  me  now.  But 
first,  I  want  to  beg  your  pardon  for  the  language  I 
used  when  you  called  on  me  before." — He  heard  a 
slight  rustle  in  the  next  room — "when  you  accused 
me  of  taking  your  daughter  from  her  home ;  I  told  you 
that  you  were  a  liar.  I  beg  your  pardon  now.  I  was 
excited.  I  know  that  you  were  only  mistaken.  You 
would  not  have  listened  to  me  then,  nor  believed  me, 
had  I  told  you  what  I  knew.  But  the  time  has  come 
when  you  shall  listen,  and  be  forced  to  know  that  I 
speak  the  truth." 

Adam  sat  as  though  fascinated.  Once  he  attempted 
to  answer,  but  a  quick  "Silence,  sir,  you  shall  hear 

430 


me,"  kept  him  still,  while  Dick  detailed  the  whole 
story,  omitting  nothing  from  the  evening  when  he 
had  rescued  Amy  from  her  drunken  escort,  to  the 
day  he  had  said  good-bye  in  the  Ozark  Mountains. 
When  he  had  finished,  the  old  gentleman  sat  silent 
for  a  moment. 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  thought  Dick,  "that  I  have 
misjudged  this  man,  and  that  he  is  grateful  for  the 
help  that  I  have  given  Amy  ?" 

But  no ;  Dick  had  not  misjudged  him.  There  was 
not  a  thought  of  gratitude  in  Adam  Goodrich's  heart. 
Thankfulness  for  his  daughter's  salvation  from  a 
life  of  sin  had  no  part  in  his  feelings;  only  blind 
rage,  that  his  pride  should  be  so  humbled.  Leap- 
ing to  his  feet,  he  shouted,  "The  proof,  you  miserable 
scoundrel ;  the  proof,  or  I'll  have  your  life  for  this." 

Dick  remained  perfectly  calm.  "You  shall  have 
the  proof,"  he  said,  quietly,  and  turning,  stepped  to 
the  next  room,  coming  back  an  instant  later  with  his 
arm  encircling  Amy's  waist. 

Adam  sprang  forward.  "You  here  at  this  hour 
alone?  Go  home  at  once.  Drop  her,  you  ruffian," 
turning  to  Dick. 

The  latter  stood  without  moving  a  muscle,  and 
Goodrich  started  toward  him. 

"Stop,"  said  Dick,  still  without  moving ;  and  again 
the  older  man  was  forced  to  obey  that  stronger  will. 

"Father,"  said  Amy.  "I  am  going  to  marry  Mr. 
431 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Falkner.  I  heard  you  and  Frank  talking  in  the 
library,  and  when  you  said  that  you  would  kill  him  I 
came  to  warn  him,  and — and — his  story  is  every 
word  true.  Oh  papa,  don't  you  see  what  a  friend  he 
has  been  to  me  ?  You  forced  me  to  the  society  that 
ruined  me,  and  he  saved  me  from  an  awful  life.  I 
love  him  and  will  be  his  wife,  but  I  can't  be  happy  as 
I  ought,  without  your  forgiveness.  Won't  you  forgive 
us  papa  ?" 

Never  in  his  life  had  it  been  Dick's  lot  to  see  a  face 
express  so  much,  or  so  many  conflicting  emotions, 
love,  hate,  pride,  passion,  remorse,  gratitude,  all  fol- 
lowed each  other  in  quick  succession.  But  finally, 
pride  and  anger  triumphed  and  the  answer  came ;  but 
in  the  expression  of  the  man's  face  rather  than  in  his 
words,  Dick  found  the  clue  to  his  course. 

"You  are  no  longer  a  daughter  of  mine,"  said 
Adam.  "I  disown  you.  If  you  marry  that  man  who 
came  to  this  town  a  common  tramp,  I  will  never  rec- 
ognize you  again.  You  have  disgraced  me.  You 
have  dragged  my  honor  in  the  dust."  He  turned  to- 
ward the  door.  But  again  Dick's  voice,  clear  and 
cold,  forced  him  to  stop.  "Sir,"  he  said;  "Before 
God,  you  and  not  this  poor  child,  are  to  blame.  By 
your  teaching,  you  crippled  her  character  and  made 
it  too  weak  to  stand  temptation,  and  then  drove  her 
from  home  by  your  brutal  unbelief." 

Adam  hung  his  head  for  a  moment,  then  raised  it 
,432 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

haughtily.    "Are  you  through  ?"  he  said  with  a  sneer. 

"Not  quite,"  answered  Dick.  "Listen;  you  value 
most  of  all  in  this  world,  pride  and  your  family  posi- 
tion. Can't  you  see  that  by  the  course  you  are  tak- 
ing, you  yourself  proclaim  your  disgrace,  and  forfeit 
your  place  in  society.  No  one  now  but  we  three, 
knows  the  story  I  have  just  related  to  you ;  but  if  you 
persist  in  this  course  the  whole  world  will  know  it." 

He  paused,  and  Adam's  face  changed;  for  while 
his  nature  could  not  forgive,  pity,  or  feel  gratitude, 
such  reasoning  as  this  forced  its  way  upon  his  mind, 
a  mind  ever  ready  to  cheat  the  opinions  of  men. 
"What  would  you  suggest  ?"  he  asked  coldly. 

"Simply  this,"  answered  Dick.  "Do  you  and  Amy 
go  home  together.  ~No  one  shall  ever  know  of  this 
incident.  Live  your  life  as  usual,  except  that  you 
shall  permit  me  to  call  at  the  house  occasionally. 
Gradually  the  people  will  become  accustomed  to  my 
visits,  and  when  the  time  comes,  the  marriage  will  not 
be  thought  so  strange.  But  remember,  this  woman  is 
to  be  my  wife,  and  you  shall  answer  to  me  if  you  make 
her  life  hard." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Adam,  after  a  moment's 
pause ;  "I  can  only  submit.  I  will  do  anything  rather 
than  have  this  awful  disgrace  made  public.  But  un- 
derstand me  sir;  while  you  may  come  to  the  house 
occasionally,  and  while  you  force  me  to  consent  to  this 
marriage  by  the  story  of  my  daughter's  disgrace,  T 

433 


do  not  accept  you  as  my  son,  or  receive  the  girl  as  my 
daughter;  for  my  honor's  sake,  I  will  appear  to  do 
both,  but  I  shall  not  forget ;  and  now  come  home." 

"Good-night,  dearest,  be  brave,"  whispered  Dick. 
And  then  as  he  unlocked  and  opened  the  door,  he 
could  not  forbear  smiling  at  Adam  and  wishing  him 
a  good-night,  with  pleasant  dreams. 


434 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 


IOTHER  GRAY  and  her  husband  -were  sit- 
ting  before  a  cheery  fire  in  their  little  parlor, 
at  the  Institution  for  Helping  the  Unem- 
ployed. The  cold  November  rain  without  came 
beating  against  the  window  panes  in  heavy  gusts,  and 
the  wind  sighed  and  moaned  about  the  corners  of  the 
house  and  down  the  chimney. 

"Winter's  coming,  wife,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  as  he 
aroused  himself  and  stirred  the  fire.  "We'll  not  be 
having  such  an  easy  time  as  we  did  this  summer. 
When  cold  weather  gets  here  in  earnest  the  poor  will 
begin  calling  on  us." 

"Yes,  but  that's  the  time  people  need  kindling 
wood  the  worst,  so  there  will  be  enough  to  feed  them," 
answered  the  good  wife  brightly,  as  she  too  aroused 
and  began  knitting  with  great  vigor. 

"I  fear  we  are  going  to  have  a  hard  winter  this 
year,  mother ;  my  old  bones  begin  to  complain  a  little 
now;  but  thank  God,  we're  sure  of  a  comfortable 
home  and  enough  to  eat.  What  we'd  a  done  without 
this  place  is  more  than  I  know,  with  Joe  away  and  me 
not  able  to  do  heavy  work  in  the  mines.  If  Maggie 

437 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

were  only  with  us."    And  the  old  man  wiped  a  tear 
from  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  father,  hut  Maggie  is  better  off  than  we. 
It?s  Joe  that  hurts  my  heart.  To  think  that  he  may  be 
hungry  and  cold  like  some  of  the  poor  fellows  we  fed 
here  last  spring.  Hark.  Isn't  that  someone  knock- 
ing at  the  door?"  She  dropped  her  knitting  to 
listen. 

The  old  man  arose  and  stepped  into  the  next  apart- 
ment, which  was  used  as  a  kind  of  reception  hall  and 
oifice.  A  faint  rapping  sounded  more  clearly  from 
there ;  and  crossing  the  room,  he  opened  the  door,  and 
in  the  light  streaming  out,  saw  a  woman.  "Come  in," 
he  cried,  reaching  forth  and  taking  her  by  the  arm. 
"Come  in  out  of  the  rain.  Why,  you're  soaked 
through." 

"Oh  please  sir,  can  I  stay  here  all  night  ?  They 
told  me  this  was  a  place  for  people  to  stop.  I'm  so 
hungry  and  tired." 

And  indeed  she  looked  it,  poor  thing.  Her  dress, 
though  of  good  material  and  nicely  made,  was  soiled 
with  mud  and  rain.  Beneath  the  sailor  hat,  from' 
which  the  water  ran  in  sparkling  drops,  her  hair  hung 
wet  and  disheveled ;  her  eyes  were  wild  and  pleading; 
her  cheeks  sunken  and  ashy  pale ;  while  the  delicately 
turned  nostrils  and  finely  curved,  trembling  lips, 
were  blue  with  cold.  Beyond  all  doubt,  she  had  once 
been  beautiful. 

438 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

Mr.  Gray,  old  in  experience,  noted  more  than  all 
this,  as  he  said,  "We  are  not  allowed  to  keep  women 
here,  but  it's  a  little  different  in  your  case,  and  I'll 
see  my  wife.  Sit  down  and  wait  a  minute." 

He  gave  her  a  chair  and  went  back  to  the  sitting- 
room,  returning  a  moment  later  with  Mother  Gray 
at  his  heels. 

"My  poor  dear,"  said  the  good  woman,  "of  course 
you  must  stay  here.  I  know,  I  know,"  as  the  girl 
looked  at  her  in  a  questioning  manner.  "Anyone 
can  see  your  condition ;  but  bless  your  heart,  our  Mas- 
ter befriended  a  poor  woman,  and  why  should  not 
we?" 

And  soon  the  girl  was  in  the  other  room  and  Mrs. 
Gray  was  removing  her  hat  and  loosening  her  cloth- 
ing. 

"Father,"  whispered  the  old  lady,  "I  think  you 
had  better  go  for  Dr.  Jordan.  He'll  be  needed  here 
before  morning." 

When  the  doctor  returned  with  Mr.  Gray,  the 
patient,  dry  and  clean,  was  wrapped  in  the  soft 
blankets  of  Mother  Gray's  own  bed,  with  one  of  Mag- 
gie's old  night-dresses  on,  and  hot  bricks  at  her  tired 
feet.  But  warmth  and  kindness  had  come  too  late. 
The  long,  weary  tramp  about  the  streets  of  the  city, 
in  the  rain;  the  friendless  shutting  of  doors  in  her 
face;  the  consciousness  that  she  was  a  mark  for  all 
eyes;  and  the  horror  of  what  was  to  come,  with  the 

439 


cold  and  hunger,  had  done  their  work.  When  the 
morning  sun,  which  has  chased  away  the  storm  clouds, 
peeped  in  at  the  little  chamber  window,  Dr.  Jordan 
straightened  up  with  a  long  breath,  "She  will  suffer 
no  more  pain  now,  mother,  until  the  end." 

"And  when  will  that  be,  Doctor  ?" 

"In  a  few  hours,  at  most ;  I  cannot  tell  exactly." 

"And  there  is  no  hope  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Gray,  smooth- 
ing the  marble  brow  on  the  pillow,  as  she  would  have 
touched  her  Maggie. 

"Absolutely  no  hope,  Mother,"  said  the  physician, 
who  knew  her  well. 

"Ah  well,  tis  better  so,"  murmured  the  old  lady. 
"This  world  is  not  the  place  for  such  as  she.  Christ 
may  forgive,  but  men  won't.  The  man  alone  can  go 
free.  And  the  little  one  too — surely  God  is  good  to 
take  them  both  together.  Will  she  come  to,  do  you 
think,  Doctor,  before  she  goes  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  probable  that  she  will  rally  for  a  little 
while,  and  you  may  find  out  her  name  perhaps.  There 
was  no  mark  on  her  clothing,  you  say  ?" 

"'Not  the  sign  of  a  mark,  and  she  would  tell  me 
nothing;  and  see,  there  is  no  wedding  ring." 

They  were  silent  for  some  time,  and  then :  "She 
is  awakening,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  blue  eyes  opened  slowly  and  looked  wonder- 
ingly  about  the  room.  "Mother,"  she  said,  in  a  weak 
"Mother — who  are  you? — "  looking  at  the 
440 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

doctor  and  Mrs.  Gray.  "Where  am  I  ?"  and  she  tried 
to  raise  her  head. 

"There,  there,  dear;  lie  still  now  and  rest.  You 
have  been  sick  you  know.  We  are  your  friends  and 
this  is  the  doctor.  Your  mother  shall  come  when  you 
,tell  us  where  to  send  for  her." 

The  poor  creature  looked  for  a  full  minute  into 
•the  kind  old  face  above  her,  and  then  slowly  the  look 
of  wonder  in  her  eyes  gave  place  to  one  of  firmness, 
pain  and  sorrow,  and  the  lips  closed  tightly,  as 
though  in  fear  that  her  secret  would  get  out. 

"Oh  honey,  don't  look  like  that,  don't.  Tell  us 
who  you  are.  Have  you  no  mother?  I  know  you 
have.  Let  us  send  for  her  at  once,  that  she  may  come 
to  you." 

The  lips  parted  in  a  sweet,  sad  smile.  "I'm  going 
to  die  then?  You  would  not  look  so  if  I  were  not. 
Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad."  And  in  a  moment  she 
was  sleeping  like  a  child. 

"Poor  girl,"  muttered  Doctor  Jordan,  wiping  his 
own  eyes.  Very  sharp  professional  eyes  they  were 
too.  "I  fear  you  will  have  to  take  her  mother's  place. 
I  must  go  now,  but  I  will  look  in  again  during  the 
day.  Don't  have  any  false  hopes;  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done,  save  to  make  the  end  easy." 

For  an  hour  the  stranger  slept,  with  a  smile  on  her 
lips ;  and  then  opened  her  eyes  again.  But  there  was 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

no  pain,  no  fear  in  them  now ;  only  just  a  shadow  of 
trouble,  as  she  asked  in  a  whisper,  "Where  is  it  ?" 

The  woman,  with  one  hand  smoothed  back  the  hair 
from  the  forehead  of  her  patient,  and  with  the  other 
pointed  upward;  the  troubled  shadow  passed  from 
the  eyes  of  the  young  mother,  and  she  slept  again. 
Later  in  the  day,  the  doctor  called,  and  once  more 
she  awoke. 

"I  thank  you,  doctor/'  she  said,  in  a  weak  voice ; 
but  shook  her  head  when  he  offered  her  medicine. 

"But,  dear  child,  it  is  only  to  relieve  you  from  any 
pain." 

She  answered,  "you  said  I  must  go;  let  me 
go  as  I  am.  Oh,  this  world  is  cold  and  harsh.  God 
knows  that  I  do  not  fear  to  die.  Christ,  who  wel- 
comed little  children,  has  my  babe,  and  he  knows 
that  in  my  heart  I  am  innocent." 

"But  won't  you  tell  us  of  your  friends  ?" 

"No,  no,"  she  whispered.  "I  have  no  friends  but 
you  and  God ;  and  I  have  doubted  even  his  love  until 
you  told  me  that  he  would  take  me." 

Nor  could  any  argument  prevail  upon  her  to 
change  her  mind ;  her  only  answer  was  a  shake  of  the 
head. 

That  evening,  just  after  dusk,  she  whispered  to 
her  kind  nurse,  who  sat  by  the  bedside,  "Won't  you 
tell  me  your  name,  please  ?" 

"They  call  me  Mother  Gray." 
442 


"And  may  I  call  you  that  too  ?" 

"Yes  honey,  of  course  you  may,"  answered  the  old 
woman.  "Of  course  you  may." 

"And  why  do  you  cry,  mother  ?"  as  the  tears  rolled 
down  the  wrinkled  face.  "Are  you  not  glad  that 
God  is  good  to  me  ?  Oh,  I  forgot,  you  are  afraid  for 
me.  You  don't  understand."  And  she  turned  her 
face  away. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  dear  ?  Brother 
Cameron  is  coming  to  see  you  just  as  soon  as  he  gets 
home.  Would  you  like  to  talk  to  him  ?" 

"Brother  Cameron — Brother  Cameron — I  have  no 
brother,"  she  answered,  turning  to  Mother  Gray 
again.  "Who  is  he?" 

"Brother  Cameron  is  our  pastor;  a  minister  you 
know." 

The  lips  parted  in  a  scornful  smile,  and  the  eyes 
flashed  with  a  spark  of  fire  that  mus.t  have  once  been 
in  them.  "Oh,  a  church  member ;  no,  I  beg  of  you, 
don't  let  him  come  here;  I  want  nothing  to  do  with 
him." 

"But,  my  dear,  he  is  a  good  man." 

"Yes  I  know,"  said  the  girl.  "I  have  met  these 
good  church  people  before." 

"But  honey,  I'm  a  church  member." 

"You  are  a  Christian,  mother;  I  love  Christ  and 
his  people ;  but  a  man  can't  prove  himself  a  Christian 
simply  by  being  a  church  member.  But  I  am  tired, 

443 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

Forgive  me  if  I  pain  you,  mother,  but  I  cannot  see 
the  minister.  He  is  a  good  man,  a  Christian  perhaps, 
but  he  can  do  me  no  good  now;  and  I  would  rather 
die  alone  with  you.  The  church  has  driven  me  from 
its  doors  so  many,  many  times.  It  was  always  so  cold 
and  unfeeling.  They  bestow  their  pity  on  the  dead 
bodies  of  people,  and  by  their  manner,  freeze  the 
souls  of  men." 

Exhausted  with  the  effort  of  so  long  a  speech,  she 
dropped  into  a  stupor  again. 

Later,  after  Rev.  Cameron  had  come  and  gone 
without  seeing  her,  she  suddenly  opened  her  eyes  and 
whispered,  "mother,  I  have  been  thinking ;  would  you 
be  happier  in  knowing  that  I'm  not  afraid  to  die  ?" 

The  good  old  woman  tightened  her  grasp  on  the 
white  hand  she  held,  and  made  no  other  answer  but 
to  bow  her  gray  head  and  press  her  lips  to  the  fore- 
head of  the  girl. 

"I  know  you  would ;  and  I'll  tell  you." 

"I  lived — "  She  was  interrupted  by  a  low  knock 
at  the  door  and  a  sweet  voice  calling  gently :  "May  I 
come  in,  Mother  Gray  ?" 

It  was  Amy,  who  had  come  at  Cameron's  request. 

The  sufferer  half  rose  in  her  bed.  "Who  is  it  ?" 
she  gasped.  "I — I — know  that  voice." 

"There,  there,  dearie,"  returned  the  nurse,  gently 
pushing  her  back  on  the  pillows.  "There,  there,  lie 
down  again ;  it's  only  Miss  Amy." 

444 


"Yes,  come  in,"  she  called;  and  Miss  Goodrich 
softly  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered. 

"I  thought  perhaps  I  could  help  you,  Mother 
Gray,"  she  said,  as  she  removed  her  hat  and  arranged 
a  beautiful  bunch  of  flowers  on  a  little  stand  in  the 
center  of  the  room.  Then  turning  to  the  sufferer, 
she  was  about  to  speak  again  when  she  paused  and 
her  face  grew  as  white  as  the  colorless  face  upon  the 
pillow. 

The  wide  eyes  of  the  dying  girl  stared  back  at  her 
in  doubting  wonder,  while  the  trembling  lips  tried  to 
whisper  her  name. 

The  next  instant,  Amy  had  thrown  herself  on  hei 
knees,  her  arms  about  the  wasted  form  upon  the  bed. 
"Oh  Kate ;  Kate ;"  she  cried.  "How  did  this  happen  ? 
How  came  you  here  ?" 

It  was  Kate  Cushman,  from  Oak  Springs  Farm. 

Mother  Gray  quickly  recovered  from  her  surprise, 
and  with  the  instinct  of  a  true  nurse,  calmed  Amy  and 
soothed  the  patient. 

"There,  there,  my  dears,"  she  said.  "God  is  good — 
God  is  good.  Let  us  thank  Him  that  He  has  brought 
you  together.  You  must  be  brave  and  strong,  Miss 
Amy.  This  poor  dear  needs  our  help.  Yes,  yes, 
dear,  be  brave  and  strong." 

Amy  controlled  herself  with  an  effort,  and  rising 
from  her  knees,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  still 


445 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

holding  Kate's  hand,  while  she  assisted  Mother  Gray 
to  soothe  her. 

When  she  grew  more  quiet,  Amy  said,  "We  must 
send  for  your  father  and  mother  at  once ;  they  can — " 

"No,  no,  you  must  not — you  shall  not — they  do 
not  know — in  mercy,  don't  tell  them — it  would  kill 
them.  Promise;  oh  promise  me  you  will  never  tell 
them  how  I  died.  In  pity  for  them,  promise  me." 

Mother  Gray  bowed  her  gray  head,  while  the  tears 
streamed  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks.  "Yes,  yes, 
dearie,  we'll  promise.  It's  better  that  they  do  not 
know  until  it's  all  over;  and  they  need  never  know 
all."  And  whispering  to  Amy,  she  added,  "The  poor 
child  can't  last  but  a  little  longer." 

Reassured,  the  sufferer  sank  back  again  with  a  long 
sigh,  and  closed  her  eyes  wearily,  but  a  moment  later, 
opened  them  once  more  to  look  at  Amy. 

"I'm  so  glad  you're  here,"  she  said  feebly;  "but  I 
can't  bear  to  have  you  think  that  I  am  all  bad."  And 
then  in  whispered,  halting  words,  with  many  a  break 
and  pause,  she  told  her  story ;  a  story  all  too  common. 
And  Amy,  listening  with  white  horror-stricken  face, 
guessed  that  which  Mother  Gray  could  not  know, 
and  which  the  sufferer  tried  to  conceal,  the  name  of 
her  betrayer. 

"And  so  we  were  married  in  secret,  or  I  thought 
we  were,"  she  concluded.  "I  know  now  that  it  was 
only  a  farce.  He  came  to  visit  me  twice  after  the 

446 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

sham  ceremony  that  betrayed  me,  and  I  never  saw 
him  again  until  last  night.  Oh  God,  forgive  him; 
forgive  him,  I — I  loved  him  so." 

The  poor  wronged  creature  burst  into  a  fit  of  pas- 
sionate sobbing  that  could  not  be  controlled.  In  vain 
did  Mother  Gray  try  to  soothe  her.  It  was  of  no  use. 
Until  at  last,  exhausted,  she  sank  again  into  a  stupor, 
from  which  she  roused  only  once  near  morning,  and 
then  she  whispered  simply,  "Good-bye  Mother ;  Good- 
bye Miss  Amy.  Don't  let  father  know."  And  just 
as  the  day  dawned  in  all  its  glory,  her  soul,  pure  and 
unstained  as  that  of  her  babe,  took  its  flight,  and  the 
smile  of  innocent  girlhood  was  upon  her  lips. 

When  Amy  reached  home  early  in  the  forenoon, 
she  met  her  brother  in  the  hallway,  just  going  out. 

"You  look  like  you'd  been  making  a  night  of  it," 
he  said,  with  a  contemptuous  sneer.  "Been  consoling 
some  wanderer  I  suppose." 

The  young  woman  made  no  reply,  but  stood  with 
her  back  to  the  door,  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  face. 

"Well,  get  out  of  my  way."  he  said  roughly ;  "can't 
you  see  I  want  to  go  out  ?" 

Amy  spoke — "I  have  been  at  the  Institution  all 
night.  Kate  Cushman  and  the  baby  are  both  dead. 
Go  look  at  your  work." 

Frank  started  as  though  she  had  struck  him;  and 
then  as  she  stepped  aside,  he  fairly  ran  from  the 
house  as  though  in  fear  of  his  life. 

447 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


\N  the  little  country  village  of  Anderson, 
where  the  southern  branch  of  the  "Mem- 
phis" joins  the  main  line,  a  group  of 
excited  citizens  were  standing  in  front  of  the  doctor's 
office.  "You're  right  sure  it's  small-pox,  are  you, 
Doc?" 

"There's  no  doubt  of  it,"  answered  the  physician. 

"Who  is  he?" 

"He  won't  tell  his  name,  but  Jack  Lane  says  it's 
Frank  Goodrich.  He  came  in  day  before  yesterday 
on  the  'Memphis/  from  Boyd  City,  where  they  have 
just  lost  a  case  or  two  of  the  worst  form." 

An  angry  murmur  arose  from  the  little  group  of 
men.  "What  you  goin'  to  do,  Doc  ?"  asked  the  spokes- 
man. 

"I've  sent  to  Pleasantville  for  that  nigger  who  has 
had  the  disease,  and  he'll  be  in  as  soon  as  he  can  get 
here.  We  must  find  some  place  out  of  town  for  the 
fellow  to  stay,  and  let  old  Jake  take  care  of  him." 

Jim  Boles  spoke  up.  "Thar's  a  cabin  on  my  west 
forty,  that's  in  purty  good  shape.  A  couple  of  us 

451 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

could  fix  her  up  in  an  hour  or  two ;  it's  way  hack  from 
the  road,  a  good  hit  over  a  mile  I  reckon — in  heavy 
timber  too." 

"I  know  the  place,"  said  another.  "We  run  a  fox 
past  there  last  winter,  and  found  him  denned  in  that 
ledge  of  rocks  'bout  half  a  quarter  on  yon  side." 

"That's  it,"  said  another.  "It's  sure  out  of  the 
way  all  right." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "three  or  four  of  you  go 
over  there  and  fix  up  the  cabin  as  comfortable  as  pos- 
sible, and  I'll  have  the  negro  take  him  out  as  soon 
as  he  comes." 

The  cabin,  which  was  built  by  some  early  settler, 
had  long  ago  been  abandoned,  and  was  partly  fallen 
into  decay.  Tall  weeds  grew  up  through  the  ruins 
where  the  pole  stable  had  stood;  the  roof  and  one 
side  of  the  smoke-house  had  fallen  in ;  and  the  chink- 
ing had  crumbled  from  between  the  logs  of  the  house ; 
while  the  yard  was  overgrown  with  brush  and  a 
tangle  of  last  season's  dead  grass  and  leaves,  now  wet 
and  sodden  with  the  late  heavy  rain.  Deep  timber 
hid  the  place  from  view,  and  a  hundred  yards  in 
front  of  the  hovel  a  spring  bubbled  from  beneath  a 
ledge  of  rock,  sending  a  tiny  stream  trickling  away 
through  the  forest. 

Jim  Boles  and  his  helpers  had  just  finished  patch- 
ing up  the  cabin  roof  and  floor,  after  first  building 
a  huge  fire  in  the  long  unused  fireplace,  when  they 

452 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

heard  the  rattle  of  a  wagon,  and  between  the  trees, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  scrawny  old  horse,  harnessed 
with  bits  of  strap  and  string,  to  a  rickety  wagon,  that 
seemed  about  to  fall  to  pieces  at  every  turn  of  the 
wheel.  Upon  the  board,  used  for  a  seat,  sat  an  old 
negro,  urging  his  steed  through  the  patches  of  light 
and  shadow  with  many  a  jerk  of  the  rope  lines,  ac- 
companied by  an  occasional  whack  from  the  long 
slender  pole.  Behind  the  negro  was  a  long  object 
wrapped  in  blankets  and  comforters. 

"Hullo!"  shouted  the  colored  man,  catching  sight 
of  the  cabin  and  the  men.  "Am  dis  yar  de  horspital 
f  er  de  small-pox  diseases  ?  Dey  dun  tol'  me  ter  f  oiler 
de  road ;  but  fo'  Gawd,  all  de's  yar  roads  look  erlike 
ter  me  in  dis  yer  place.  Nevah  seed  sick  er  lonsom  ol' 
hole  in  all  ma'  bo'n  days.  Reckon  dars  any  hants  in 
dat  air  ol'  shack  ?" 

"No,  this  cabin  is  all  right,"  shouted  one  of  the 
men ;  "but  you  stay  where  you  are  till  we  get  away." 
And  they  began  gathering  up  their  tools  and  gar- 
ments. 

"All  right,  sah ;  all  right,  sah,"  grinned  the  negro. 
"You'uns  jes  clar  out  ob  de  way  fer  de  ambiance 
am  er  comin'.  We  dun  got  de  right  ob  way  dis  trip, 
ehor'." 

And  so  Frank  Goodrich  was  established  in  the  old 
log  house,  with  the  colored  man  to  nurse  him.  A 
place  was  fixed  upon  where  the  doctor  and  citizens 

453 


would  leave  such  things  as  were  needed,  and  Jake 
could  go  and  get  them. 

Three  days  passed,  and  then  by  bribes  and  threats 
and  prayers,  Frank  persuaded  the  negro  to  walk  to 
Pleasantville  in  the  night  and  post  a  letter  to  Rev. 
Cameron,  begging  the  minister  to  come  to  him,  telling 
him  only  that  he  was  in  trouble  and  warning  him  to 
keep  his  journey  secret. 

What  fiend  prompted  young  Goodrich  to  take  such 
a  course  cannot  be  imagined.  But  let  us,  in  charity, 
try  to  think  that  he  was  driven  to  it  by  the  fright  and 
horrors  of  his  condition. 

Mrs.  Cameron  was  away  in  the  far  east  visiting 
her  parents,  and  when  the  minister  received  the  letter, 
he  made  hurried  preparations,  and  telling  Dick  that 
he  might  be  gone  several  days,  left  the  city  that  even- 
ing. At  a  little  way-station  named  in  the  letter,  he 
found  the  negro,  with  his  poor  old  horse  and  rickety 
wagon  waiting  him. 

"Is  you  de  parson  ?"  asked  the  colored  man. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  minister,"  Cameron  answered,  won- 
dering much  at  the  appearance  of  the  darkey  and  his 
strange  turn-out.  And  as  he  climbed  up  to  the  board 
seat,  he  questioned  his  guide  rather  sharply,  but  the 
only  answer  he  could  get  was:  "Mistah  Goodrich 
dun  toP  me  ter  hoP  ma  tongue  er  he'd  hant  me,  an'  I'm 
shor  goin'  t*  do  hit.  Golly,  dis  yere  chile  don't  want 
no  ghostee  chasin*  ob  him  'roun'.  No  sah.  I'ae  done 

454 


A  STOEY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

fotch  jo'  t'  Mistah  Goodrich  en  he  kin  tell  yo'  wha. 
he's  er  mind  ter." 

Needless  to  say,  all  this  did  not  add  to  Cameron's 
peace  of  mind,  and  the  moments  seemed  hours  as  the 
poor  old  horse  stumbled  on  through  the  darkness  of 
the  night.  At  last  they  entered  the  timber,  and  how 
the  negro  ever  guided  his  crippled  steed  past  the  trees 
and  fallen  logs  and  rocks  was  a  mystery ;  but  he  did ; 
and  at  last  they  saw  the  light  of  the  cabin. 

"Dar's  de  place,  sah.  Dis  yere's  de  horspital.  We 
dun  got  yere  at  las'."  And  the  colored  Jehu  brought 
the  horse  to  a  stand-still  near  the  tumbled  down; 
smoke-house. 

"Go  right  in,  sah;  go  right  in.  Nobody  dar  but 
Mistah  Goodrich.  I  put  eway  ol'  Mose."  And  he  be- 
gan fumbling  at  the  ropes  and  strings  that  made  the 
harness. 

Cameron,  burning  with  impatience  and  curiosity, 
stepped  to  the  door  of  the  cabin  and  pushed  it  open. 
By  the  dim  light  of  a  dirty  kerosene  lantern,  he 
could  see  nothing  at  first ;  but  a  moaning  voice  from 
one  end  of  the  room,  drew  his  attention  in  the  right 
direction.  "Is  that  you,  Brother  Cameron  ?" 

He  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  cot.  "Why  Frank, 
what  are  you  doing  here ;  and  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"I'm  sick,"  answered  the  young  man,  in  a  feeble 
voice.  "I  wanted  to  see  you  so  bad.  I'm  awful  glad 


you  came." 


455 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

"But  why  are  you  here  in  this  miserable  place  ?  I 
do  not  understand." 

"Small-pox,"  muttered  the  sick  man.  "Folks  in 
town  are  afraid.  The  nigger  takes  care  of  me.  He 
has  had  it." 

The  minister  involuntarily  started  back. 

"Oh  Brother  Cameron,  don't  leave  me  here  alone," 
cried  Frank.  "I  can't  die  like  this." 

For  one  brief  moment  Cameron  trembled.  He 
saw  his  danger  and  the  trap  into  which  he  had  fallen. 
He  thought  of  his  work  and  of  his  wife,  and  took  one 
step  toward  the  door ;  then  stopped. 

"Oh,  I  can't  die  alone,"  said  the  voice  again. 

Then  with  a  prayer  to  his  God  for  help,  the  min- 
ister made  up  his  mind. 

"Why  of  course  I'll  not  leave  you,  Frank,"  he  said 
cheerily,  resuming  his  seat.  "You  know  that  surely." 

And  so  this  man  of  God  wrote  his  friends  in  the 
city  that  he  would  be  detained  a  few  days,  and  stayed 
by  the  side  of  the  wretched  sufferer  in  the  old  cabin 
in  the  lonely  woods. 

The  disease  was  not  slow  in  its  work,  and  before 
many  hours  had  passed,  it  was  clear  to  Cameron  that 
the  end  was  approaching.  Frank  also  realized  that 
death  was  not  far  distant,  and  his  awful  fear  was 
pitiful. 

"Brother  Cameron,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  as  he 
held  his  pastor's  hand,  while  the  old  negro  crouched 

456 


A  STORY  01'  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

by  the  fire-place  smoking  his  cob  pipe.  "I  must  tell 
you — I've  lived  an  awful  life — people  think  that  I'm 
a  Christian — but  I've  lived  a  lie — 

Then  with  a  look  that  made  Cameron  shudder,  and 
in  a  voice  strong  with  terror,  he  screamed,  "O  God, 
I  shall  go  to  Hell.  I  shall  go  to  Hell.  Save  me, 
'Brother  Cameron,  save  me.  I  always  said  that  you 
were  a  good  fellow.  Why  do  you  let  me  die  here  like 
a  dog  ?  Don't  you  know  that  I  want  to  live  ?  Here 
you  cursed  nigger,  go  fetch  a  doctor.  I'll  haunt  you 
if  you  don't.  Do  as  I  say." 

The  colored  man  chattering  in  fright,  dropped 
his  pipe  in  the  ashes,  and  half  rose  as  though  to 
leave  the  room,  but  sank  back  again  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Rev.  Cameron,  who  was  bending  forward, 
his  hand  on  the  forehead  of  the  dying  man. 

"God  knows  all,  Frank,"  said  the  minister. 

"Yes,"  muttered  the  other,  "God  knows  all — all — 
all."  Then  in  a  scream  of  anguish  again,  "He  has 
been  watching  me  all  the  time.  He  has  seen  me 
everywhere  I  went.  He  is  here  now.  Look!  don't 
you  see  his  eyes  ?  Look !  Brother  Cameron ;  look 
you  nigger ! — Look  there — "  He  pointed  to  one  cor- 
ner of  the  cabin.  "Oh,  see  those  awful  eyes,  watch- 
ing— watching — I  have  fooled  men  but  I  couldn't 
fool  God.  Don't.  Don't. — Oh,  Christ,  I  want  to 
live.  Save  me — save  me — "  And  he  prayed  and 
plead  for  Jesus  to  heal  him.  "You  know  you  could  if 

457 


THAT  PEINTEE  OF  UDELL'S 

you  wanted  to,"  he  shouted,  profanely ;  as  though  the 
Saviour  of  men  was  present  in  the  flesh.  Then  to 
Cameron  again,  "I  must  get  out  of  here.  Don't  you 
hear  them  coming  ?  Let  me  go  I  say,"  as  the  minister 
held  him  back  on  the  bed.  "Let  me  go.  Don't  you 
know  that  I  can't  look  God  in  the  face  ?  I  tell  you, 
I'm  afraid." 

For  a  moment  he  struggled  feebly  and  then  sank 
back  exhausted ;  but  soon  began  to  talk  again ;  and  the 
minister  heard  with  horror  the  dark  secrets  of  his 
life. 

Suddenly  he  ceased  muttering,  and  with  wide-open 
eyes,  stared  into  the  darkness.  "Look  there,  Brother 
Cameron,"  he  cried,  hoarse  with  emotion.  "Amy; 
don't  you  see  her  ?  She  disgraced  the  family  you 
know;  ran  away  with  that  low-down  printer.  But 
see!  Look!  Who  is  that  with  her?  Oh  God,  it's 
Kate — Kate —  Yes,  Kate,  I'll  marry  you.  It  can't 
be  wrong,  you  know,  for  you  love  me.  Only  we  must 
not  marry  now  for  father  would — Look  Cameron — 
His  voice  rose  in  a  scream  of  fear.  "She's  got  small- 
pox. Drive  her  out,  you  nigger ;  take  her  away  to  that 
cabin  in  the  woods  where  you  kept  me.  Sh' —  Don't 
tell  anyone,  Cameron,  but  she  wants  me  to  go  with 
her.  She's  come  to  get  me.  And  there's — there's — 
My  God,  look — Yes — Yes — Kate,  I'm  coming — " 
And  he  sank  back  on  the  bed  again. 

The  negro  was  on  his  knees  trying  to  mumble  a 
458 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

prayer,  while  the  minister  sat  with  bowed  head.  The 
lantern  cast  flickering  shadows  in  the  corners  of  the 
room,  and  the  firelight  danced  and  fell.  A  water 
bug  crawled  over  the  floor;  a  spider  dropped  from 
the  rude  rafters ;  and  from  without  came  the  sound  of 
the  wind  among  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees,  and 
the  old  horse  feeding  on  the  dead  grass  and  mouldy 
leaves  about  the  cabin. 

Suddenly  the  sick  man  spoke  once  more.  "No 
sir,  I  will  never  disgrace  you.  I  am  as  proud  of  our 
family  as  yourself.  I  am — home — day — "  The 
sentence  trailed  off  into  a  few  unintelligible  words 
in  which  only  "Mother"  and  "Amy"  could  be  distin- 
guished. And  then,  with  a  last  look  about  the  cabin, 
from  eyes  in  which  anguish  and  awful  fear  was  pic- 
tured, he  gasped  and  was  gone. 

The  next  day,  the  old  negro  dug  a  grave  not  far 
from  the  house,  and  at  evening,  when  the  sun  was 
casting  the  last  long  shadows  through  the  trees,  the 
colored  man  and  the  minister  lowered  the  body  of  the 
rich  man's  son,  with  the  help  of  the  rope  lines  from 
the  old  harness,  to  its  last  resting  place. 

A  few  moments  later,  the  darkey  came  around  to 
the  front  of  the  house. 

"Ready  to  go,  sah  ?" 

"Go  where  ?"  asked  Cameron. 

"Why,  go  home  ob  course.  I  reckoned  you'd  be 
mighty  glad  ter  get  away  from  dis  ver  olace." 

459 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

tcTm  not  going  anywhere,"  the  minister  answered. 
"You  may  unhitch  the  horse  again." 

The  old  man  did  as  he  was  told ;  then  scratching  his 
woolly  head,  said  to  himself,  "I  golly.  Neber  thought 
ob  dat.  I'll  sure  hab  ter  take  care  ob  him  next." 

In  the  days  which  followed,  Cameron  wrote  long 
letters  to  his  wife,  preparing  her,  with  many  loving 
words,  for  what  was,  in  all  probability,  sure  to  come 
before  she  could  reach  home  again.  He  also  prepared 
an  article  for  the  Whistler,  telling  of  Frank's  death, 
but  omitting  all  that  would  tend  to  injure  the  young 
man's  character.  To  Adam  Goodrich  only,  he  wrote 
the  awful  truth.  Other  letters  containing  requests  in 
regard  to  his  business  affairs,  he  addressed  to  Dick 
Falkner  and  Uncle  Bobbie  Wicks,  and  one  to  the 
President  of  the  Association,  in  which  he  made  sev- 
eral recommendations  in  regard  to  the  work.  All  of 
these,  except  the  one  to  his  wife,  he  placed  in  the 
hands  of  the  negro  to  be  mailed  after  his  death,  if 
such  should  be  the  end. 

Then  when  the  symptoms  of  the  dread  disease  ap- 
peared, he  calmly  and  coolly  began  his  fight  for  life. 
But  his  efforts  were  of  no  avail ;  and  one  night,  just 
before  the  break  of  day,  he  called  the  old  colored  man 
to  his  bedside  and  whispered,  with  a  smile,  "It's  al- 
most over,  Uncle  Jake ;  my  Master  bids  me  come  up 
higher.  Good-bye;  you  have  been  very  kind  to  me, 
and  the  good  Father  will  not  forget  you."  And  so 

460 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

talking  calmly  of  the  Master's  goodness  and  love,  he 
fell  asleep,  and  the  old  negro  sat  with  a  look  of  awe 
and  reverence  on  his  dusky  face,  as  the  glorious  sun- 
light filled  the  cabin  and  the  chorus  of  the  birds 
greeted  the  coming  of  the  day. 

Much  that  passed  in  the  weeks  following,  cannot  be 
written  here.  Mrs.  Cameron's  grief  and  anguish  were 
too  keen,  too  sacred,  to  be  rendered  in  unsympathetic 
print.  But  sustained  by  that  power  which  had  en- 
nobled the  life  of  her  husband,  and  kept  by  the  prom- 
ises of  the  faith  that  had  strengthened  him,  she  went 
on  doing  her  part  in  the  Master's  work,  waiting  in 
loving  patience  the  call  that  would  unite  them  again. 

A  month  after  the  news  of  Cameron's  death  reached 
Boyd  City,  the  president  of  the  Association  called  on 
Dick  and  spent  an  hour  with  him  talking  of  the  work. 
Before  leaving,  he  said :  "Mr.  Falkner,  in  Rev.  Cam- 
eron's letter  to  me,  he  strongly  recommended  that  you 
be  called  to  take  the  place  left  vacant  as  director  of  the 
Association.  With  your  consent,  I  will  announce 
that  recommendation  at  our  next  meeting.  But  first, 
I  would  like  to  know  what  answer  you  would  give." 

Dick  asked  for  a  week  to  think  over  the  matter, 
which  was  granted.  And  during  that  time  he  con- 
sulted Elder  Wicks. 

Uncle  Bobbie  only  said,  as  he  grasped  his  young 
friend  by  the  hand,  "Behold,  I  have  set  before  you 


461 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

an  open  door."    And  Dick  bowed  his  head  in  silent 
assent. 

The  same  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  George  Udell 
was  bending  over  some  work  that  he  was  obliged  to 
finish  before  going  home.  His  helper  had  gone  to 
supper,  and  the  boy,  a  new  one  in  the  office,  was 
cleaning  up  preparatory  to  closing  for  the  night. 
"Don't  clean  that  press,  Jim,"  said  the  printer,  sud- 
denly. 

"What's  the  matter ;  don't  you  know  that  it's  time 
to  quit  ?"  asked  the  tired  youngster,  a  note  of  anxiety 
in  his  voice. 

"You  can  quit,"  replied  George,  "but  I  am  going  to 
run  off  some  of  this  stuff  before  I  go."  And  he  pro- 
ceeded to  lock  up  the  form. 

With  a  look  of  supreme  disgust  on  his  ink-stained 
countenance,  the  other  removed  his  apron  and  van- 
ished, as  though  fearing  his  employer  might  change 
his  mind.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  the  apprentice 
met  Clara  Wilson.  "He's  up  there,"  he  said  with  a 
grin,  and  hurried  on  out  of  the  building,  while  the 
young  lady  passed  slowly  to  the  upper  floor.  The 
stamping  of  the  press  filled  the  room,  and  the  printer, 
his  eyes  on  his  work,  did  not  hear  the  door  close  behind 
the  girl ;  and  only  when  she  stood  at  his  elbow  did  he 
look  up.  The  machine  made  three  impressions  on  one 
sheet  before  he  came  to  his  senses ;  then  he  turned  to 
the  young  lady  inquiringly. 

462 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

"I — I — thought  I'd  stop  and  ask  you  to  come  over 
to  the  house  this  evening ;  Mother  wants  to  see  you." 

"Hum — m — in,  anything  important  ?"  asked 
George,  leaning  against  the  press.  "You  see  I'm 
pretty  busy  now."  He  shut  off  the  power  and  step- 
ped across  the  room  as  the  phone  rang.  "Hello — Yes, 
this  is  Udell's — I'm  sorry,  but  it  will  be  impossible — 
We  close  at  six  you  know.  Come  over  first  thing  in 
the  morning — Can't  do  it;  it's  past  six  now,  and  I 
have  an  important  engagement  to-night.  All  right. 
Good-bye." 

"Oh,  if  you  have  an  engagement  I  will  go,"  said 
Clara,  moving  toward  the  door. 

"You  needn't  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  George,  with 
one  of  his  queer  smiles.  "My  engagement  has  been 
put  off  so  many  times  it  won't  hurt  to  delay  it  a  few 
minutes  longer.  And  besides,"  he  added,  "the  other 
party  has  done  all  the  putting  off  so  far,  and  I  rather 
enjoy  the  novelty." 

The  young  lady  blushed  and  hung  her  head,  and 
then — but  there — what  right  have  we  to  look?  It 
is  enough  for  us  to  know  that  Udell's  engagement  was 
put  off  no  longer,  and  that  he  spent  the  evening  at 
the  Wilson  home,  where  the  heart  of  Clara's  mother 
was  made  glad  by  the  announcement  she  had  long 
wished  to  hear. 

"Law  sakes,"  snapped  the  old  lady;  "I  do  hope 
you'll  be  happy.  Goodness  knows  you  ought  to  be; 

463 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

you've  waited  long  enough."  And  for  just  that  onoe, 
all  parties  interested  were  agreed. 

Charlie  Bowen  is  in  an  eastern  college  fitting  him- 
self for  the  ministry.  His  expenses  are  paid  by  Mr. 
Wicks.  "To-be-sure/'  said  Uncle  Bobbie,  "I  reckon 
a  feller  might  as  well  invest  in  young  men  as  any 
other  kind  o'  stock,  an'  the  church  needs  preachers 
who  know  a  little  about  the  business  of  this  world, 
as  well  as  the  world  what's  comin'.  I  don't  know 

• 

how  my  business  will  get  along  without  the  boy 
though,  but  I  reckon  if  we  look  after  Christ's  interests 
he  won't  let  us  go  broke.  To-be-sure,  college  only 
puts  the  trimmins'  on,  but  if  you've  got  a  Christian 
business  man,  what's  all  man  to  begin  with,  they  sure 
do  put  him  in  shape ;  an'  I  reckon  the  best  'aint  none 
too  good  for  God.  But  after  all,  it's  mighty  comf ortin* 
for  such  old,  uneducated  sticks  as  me  to  know  that 
'caint  the  trimmings  the  good  Father  looks  at.  Ye 
can't  tell  a  preacher  by  the  long  words  in  his  sermon, 
no  more  'n  you  can  tell  a  church  by  the  length  of  its 
steeple." 

Five  years  later,  two  traveling  men,  aboard  the 
incoming  "Frisco"  passenger,  were  discussing  the 
business  outlook,  when  one  pointed  out  of  the  window 
to  the  smoke-shrouded  city.  "That  town  is  a  wonder 
to  me,"  he  said. 

"Why  ?"  asked  his  fellow-drummer,  who  was  mak- 
ing his  first  trip  over  that  part  of  the  road.  "What's 

464 


the  matter  with  it  ?    Isn't  it  a  good  business  town  ?" 

"Good  business  town,"  ejaculated  the  other,  "I 
should  say  it  was.  There's  not  a  better  in  this  section 
of  the  country.  But  it's  the  change  in  the  character 
of  the  place  that  gets  me.  Five  years  ago,  there 
wasn't  a  tougher  city  in  the  whole  west.  Every  other 
door  on  Broadway  was  a  joint,  and  now — 

"Oh  yes,  I've  heard  that,"  interrupted  the  other, 
with  a  half  sneer;  "struck  by  a  church  revival  or 
something,  wasn't  they?  And  built  some  sort  of  a 
Salvation  Army  Rescuing  Home  or  Mission  ?" 

"I'm  not  sure  about  the  church  revival,"  returned 
the  other  slowly,  "though  they  do  say  there  are  more 
church  members  there  now  than  in  any  other  city  of 
its  size  in  the  country.  But  I'm  sure  of  one  thing ;  they 
were  struck  by  good,  common-sense  business  Chris- 
tianity. As  for  the  Rescue  Home,  I  suppose  you 
can  call  it  that  if  you  want  to;  but  it's  the  finest 
block  in  the  business  portion  of  the  city ;  and  almost 
every  man  you  meet  owns  a  share  in  it.  But  here 
we  are ;  you  can  see  for  yourself ;  only  take  my  advice, 
and  if  you  want  to  do  business  in  Boyd  City,  don't 
try  to  sneer  at  the  churches,  or  laugh  at  their  Asso- 
ciation." 

And  indeed  the  traveling  man  might  well  wonder 
at  the  change  a  few  years  had  brought  to  this 
city  in  the  great  coal  fields  of  the  middle  west.  In 
place  of  the  saloons  that  once  lined  the  east  side  of 

465 


THAT  PKIOTEK  OF  UDELL'S 

Broadway  and  the  principal  streets  leading  to  it, 
there  were  substantial  buildings  and  respectable  busi- 
ness firms.  The  gambling  dens  and  brothels  had 
been  forced  to  close  their  doors,  and  their  occupants 
driven  to  seek  other  fields  for  their  degrading  pro- 
fession. Cheap  variety  and  vulgar  burlesque  troops 
had  the  city  listed  as  no  good,  and  passed  it  by,  while 
the  best  of  musicians  and  lecturers  were  always  sure 
of  crowded  houses.  The  churches,  of  all  denomina- 
tions, had  been  forced  to  increase  their  seating  capac- 
ity ;  and  the  attendance  at  High  School  and  Business 
College  had  enlarged  four-fold;  the  city  streets  and 
public  buildings,  the  lawns  and  fences  even,  by  their 
clean  and  well-kept  appearance,  showed  an  honest 
pride,  and  a  purpose  above  mere  existence.  But  a 
stranger  would  notice,  first  of  all,  the  absence  of 
loafers  on  the  street  corners,  and  the  bright,  interested 
expressions  and  manners  of  the  young  men  whom 
he  chanced  to  meet. 

And  does  this  all  seem  strange  to  you,  reader,  as 
to  our  friend,  the  traveling  man  ?  Believe  me,  there 
is  no  mystery  about  it.  It  is  just  the  change  that 
comes  to  the  individual  who  applies  Christ's  teach- 
ing to  his  daily  life.  High  purpose,  noble  activity, 
virtue,  honesty  and  cleanliness.  God  has  but  one  law 
for  the  corporation  and  the  individual,  and  the  teach- 
ing that  will  transform  the  life  of  a  citizen  will 
Change  the  life  of  a  city  if  only  it  be  applied. 

466 


A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  WEST 

The  reading-room  and  institution  established  by 
the  young  people  of  the  Jerusalem  Church  had  ac- 
complished its  mission,  and  was  absorbed  into  the 
larger  one  established  by  the  citizens,  where  boya 
and  girls,  men  and  women,  could  hear  good  music, 
uplifting  talk,  and  helpful  entertainment;  where 
good  citizenship,  good  health,  good  morals,  were 
all  taught  in  the  name  of  Jesus.  The  insti- 
tution was  free  in  every  department;  visitors 
were  restricted  only  by  wholesome  rules  that  in 
themselves  were  educational.  Co-operating  with 
the  city  officials,  it  separated  the  vicious  from  the 
unfortunate,  and  removed  not  only  the  influence  of 
evil,  but  the  last  excuse  for  it,  by  making  virtue  a 
pleasure,  and  tempting  the  public  to  live  whole- 
somely. And  as  the  traveling  man  testified,  it  paid 
from  a  business  standpoint ;  or  as  Uncle  Bobbie  Wicks 
tells  his  customers  from  other  towns,  "Folks  come 
to  Boyd  City  to  live  'cause  they  Jaint  'fraid  to  have 
their  boys  'n  girls  walk  down  the  street  alone."  And 
after  all,  that's  about  the  best  recommendation  a 
place  can  have.  And  perhaps  the  happiest  couple 
in  all  that  happy,  prosperous  city,  as  well  as  the 
best-loved  of  her  citizens,  is  the  young  manager  of  the 
Association,  Mr.  Richard  Falkner,  and  his  beautiful 
wife,  Amy. 

But  Dick  will  soon  leave  his  present  position  to 
enter  a  field  of  wider  usefulness  at  the  National  Capi- 

467 


THAT  PRINTER  OF  UDELL'S 

toL  For  the  people  declared,  at  the  last  election, 
that  their  choice  for  representative  was  "That 
Printer  of  Udell's."  And  before  they  leave  for  their 
Washington  home,  Dick  and  Amy  will  pay  still 
another  visit  to  a  lonely  spot  near  the  little  village 
of  Anderson.  There,  where  the  oaks  and  hickorys 
cast  their  flickering  shadows  on  the  fallen  leaves  and 
bushes,  and  the  striped  ground-squirrel  has  his  home 
in  the  rocks ;  where  the  redbird  whistles  to  his  mate, 
and  at  night,  the  sly  fox  creeps  forth  to  roam  at  will ; 
where  nature,  with  vine  of  the  wild  grape,  has  builded 
a  fantastic  arbor,  and  the  atmosphere  is  sweet  with 
woodland  flowers  and  blossoms,  not  far  from  the  ruins 
of  an  old  cabin,  they  will  kneel  before  two  rough 
mounds  of  earth,  each  marked  with  a  simple  head- 
stone, one  bearing  no  inscription  save  the  name  and 
date;  the  other  this:  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done 
it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  Me." 

THE  END. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000118556     0 


